Coping
by Mrs. Singing Violin
Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Feedback and Author's Note: Thank you to Lia Harkness for the feedback on the beginning of this. She hasn't seen the rest, though, so any mistakes are mine. See end of Chapter 1 for more notes.

=/\=

The first thing he noticed was that she'd stopped touching the crew.

No...not all the crew. Just him.

He missed her reassuring fingers on his shoulder, and the way she snuggled into his side as they stood, an allied mass. She kept her distance now, and while it was only a few centimeters, it felt like light years.

No wait, it wasn't just him. It was all the men, and only the men.

An outside observer wouldn't have seen anything out of the ordinary, especially if said observer came from a gender-segregated race. Most captains weren't so familiar with their crew, and most sexed races allowed more contact between same-gender members than different-gender ones. So, to someone who didn't know any better, it wasn't so strange that she would only touch the women.

Only it was. For her. Plus, he'd attempted a few times to reach out to her—as he had hundreds of times, and been received graciously, if not gratefully—but each time recently, she'd subtly moved away. He found himself frequently now with hand in midair, awkwardly floating towards nothingness.

Then there was her pallor. Admittedly, she hadn't been in proper sunlight planetside in months, but she seemed paler than usual. Thinner, too, and it occurred to him he hadn't seen her eat: not in her ready room, and not in the mess hall. Not for quite some time.

He contemplated contacting the EMH with his concerns, but he wasn't exactly sure what to be concerned about. Her personal habits were, technically, none of his business, until they started interfering with her duties. And while he missed her physical contact, that was his problem, not hers; she was still attending to her responsibilities as captain admirably.

No, this was something he needed to approach her about directly. Well, perhaps indirectly. But he needed to talk to her in order to figure out what was going on. He only hoped that she would be honest with him. While whatever it was wasn't interfering with her duties _yet_, he had no doubt that, should it continue unchecked, there would be consequences, and he didn't want to let it go that far. He couldn't.

He entered her ready room fully expecting to be ignored, dismissed, or even reprimanded. What he did not expect was that his presence would invoke fear. The signs were subtle: the way she turned slightly from him and failed to meet his eyes, the way she startled when he first entered, despite the fact that she had invited him in, and the way she shook, ever-so-slightly, as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. She was definitely _afraid_. Of _him_.

He racked his brain trying to figure out what he'd done to threaten her, and came up empty.

"Chakotay!" she admonished. "Was there a reason you came here to see me? I'm very busy, so please make it quick."

He could feel the heat in his cheeks as he realized he must have been silent for nearly a minute while he assessed her. Of course she would have noticed. "Sorry, Captain, I was just..."

His feet went cold. He had no idea how to approach the subject, let alone treat it. The chill quickly traveled up his body and froze his mouth.

"You were just what? Is there a problem of which I should be aware?" Her impatient tone might have him believing her palsy was merely a byproduct of her eagerness to get rid of him so that she could return to her work—if he were not looking for something else, some clue as to the cause of her change of behavior of late.

He sighed and redoubled his resolve. "I was wondering if you were okay," he managed to get out.

She looked genuinely puzzled. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You haven't touched me," he admitted directly. "I..." _I miss you_, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. "I was worried. You used to touch me more."

Now it was her turn to sigh. "I suppose I was being unprofessional," she conceded. "I shouldn't have been so tactile, and I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You're also not eating."

She looked up from her padd, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd entered the room, then looking quickly away again. "Just because I'm not eating with you doesn't mean I'm not eating. I've been busy."

The commander attempted to quell his exasperation. "You wouldn't be losing weight if you were eating properly. You're thin, Kathryn, and you can't get much thinner before you'll disappear entirely, and that might be a problem for the crew."

He hoped to get a smile of amusement for his efforts towards light humor, but got no reaction at all.

"I'm fine," she repeated unconvincingly. She looked up at him once again, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it, quickly glancing back to her padd. "If that's all," she continued, seeming to talk directly to her desk.

"Kathryn," he tried, hoping to break through her barriers with familiarity, "something's happened to you, and as your first officer and your friend, I think it's important that I know."

She raised an eyebrow but did not look up. "If you need to know something, Chakotay, I will tell you. Now, if that's all..."

"No," he insisted. "That's not good enough. I _do_ need to know, because..." His voice trailed off as he realized that she could have said there was nothing _to_ know, but instead, she'd practically admitted she was hiding something from him. He desperately sought the origin of her strange behavior, and immediately his mind traveled back to the last away mission she'd been on. "Something happened on that planet, didn't it? Something happened to you?"

As he spoke, he stepped closer, and when he was near enough, he lightly touched her arm. Since she wasn't looking, she didn't have time to dodge him.

Instead, she flinched and pulled away after the touch, and he noticed her shaking increase considerably in the moments following.

Possibly realizing she had been caught, she slowly looked up at him, and her eyes revealed more than he could ever have imagined.

"You didn't...oh my god, Kathryn, were you...?" he stammered, not knowing exactly how to ask what he was thinking.

She took another deep breath, visibly steeling herself, and then made a point to look directly into his eyes, boring a hole into his soul as she spoke her next words. "If something happened — and I'm not saying it did — we're trained for the scenario."

Suddenly he felt as if he were going to be sick. "Trained?" he repeated weakly.

"Yes," she nodded. "Trained. It's always a possibility, and we need to be prepared to handle it."

He appeared confused now. "But I didn't...I mean, I never got..."

She looked askance at him for a moment as she realized what he was trying to say. "Chakotay, please tell me you have realized the fundamental difference between you and me."

He swallowed harshly, knowing exactly to what she was referring. "You mean only women get this...training?"

"That's correct," she answered coolly, looking back down at her padd, seemingly having reached the limit of her capacity to maintain eye contact.

"How...why?" he stammered, rage boiling within him.

She glanced up at him, but didn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus past him on the ready room doors. "You know why."

He clenched his fists, wanting desperately to send one of them through a bulkhead. "That's wrong," he finally got out.

She raised her eyebrows, still looking past him. "You'll get no argument from me. I would have required it for everyone. But I didn't have the authority, and I still don't, especially here."

He gulped yet again, attempting to channel his anger into something productive. "Well, whatever this training, it doesn't seem to have been very effective."

Now her eyes burned with indignant fire. "What makes you say that?"

"You're jumpy," he explained, not caring anymore whether he was overstepping his bounds. He had nobody to direct his wrath towards, and his captain was the only one present. "You're not eating, not touching me...not touching any of the men. You're clearly not coping."

She narrowed his eyes towards him. "_If_ something happened, I would cope _exactly_ as I was taught, and it would take time, and I wouldn't expect you to understand. I realize there have been some changes lately, but let me ask you this: am I, in your opinion, unfit for duty?"

_I'm not sure_, he thought, but once again, he had no solid basis on which to doubt it. "No," he admitted reluctantly. _Not yet, but if this keeps up..._

"Have I been neglecting my duties, according to regulations?" she prodded carefully.

"No," he repeated quickly. "You haven't."

"So, while you may not be comfortable with the changes, you admit they are not a cause for concern, in any _official_ way. And in fact, I believe Starfleet command would consider this to be an improvement, if they had the opportunity to observe us. Now," she paused a moment, and he wondered whether she was fighting tears as she put the padd down on her desk. She softened her voice, "will that be all? Please?"

That last word undid his resolve, and he shrank before her. "I suppose so," he answered meekly, not knowing what else to say. _For the moment_, he thought to himself. _At least now I have something to present to the Doctor. Though perhaps_, he realized as he turned to leave,_ the Doctor already knows, and has endorsed this 'coping' as taught._ He shivered slightly as he exited.

=/\=

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback policy and Author's Note<strong> (please read before reviewing if you intend to criticize): Reviews are welcome, and *constructive* criticism is encouraged. The following is what I consider constructive criticism. I abide by the following guidelines myself when reviewing a story; I know there are things being said about me otherwise - thanks mean-girl VAMBies; I left VAMB with the hope you'd leave me alone rather than continue spreading lies about me, sigh - and yet I continue to be blocked randomly and trolled (I'm looking at you, Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway) because of "things I've done in the past" which isn't actually what I've done in the past but rather rumors that were spread about me by one complete nutcase (anyone remember Innocent Pen?) and a bunch of naive girls who believed the crazy troll and bullied me because they thought I deserved it. To those who were duped and participated in the attacks: I forgive you, though I hope you will never do that to anyone else again. Nobody "deserves" to be bullied. Ever. No matter what they've done. But especially when they haven't actually done what you think they have. And bullying won't make them go away if they are actually a mean person: it'll just make them fight back or bully someone else. And if they're not a mean person, bullying can literally kill, as they'll turn their anger and hurt on themselves rather than hurt someone else. In any case, the following is honestly what I try to do, if I'm criticizing at all, which most of the time I'm not (unless I'm beta'ing):

1) Point out errors (misspellings, grammar, etc.) that can be fixed easily and quickly (and will be). Lia Harkness beta'ed the beginning of this (thank you!) but hasn't seen most of it and although I'm pretty meticulous, I may have missed something, so please let me know if I did, and I'll fix it ASAP. Error fixes do not need to be accompanied by any other comments; they're objective and helpful. (However, I personally will not even point out errors without also including praise for the story, because I know some people are discouraged by error fixes because they take them personally. I do think it's important to point out especially endemic errors, because the more we all see them wrong, the more we'll be confused about what's actually right, and then when it actually matters - like a graded paper or a job application - we could make mistakes we're totally unaware of and suffer the consequences.)

OR

2) Include BOTH of the following:  
>a) Tell me something you liked about the story and why. If you have nothing nice to say, then you shouldn't be reading it in the first place. (Except if the author specifically asked you to read it, and yes, I have been asked to read stories I hated, and I read them because I was asked to do so, AND tried to find some nice things to say about them even though I hated them. However, I don't typically ask people to read my stories - even as betas - unless I honestly think they'll enjoy them.)<br>b) Tell me what you didn't like, and be SPECIFIC. "More description would make it flow better" (a recent anonymous flame I got, and no, that's not out of context - that was the entire review) is not helpful. Description of what? Where in the story? "Flow" is subjective and vague. And, before you make a request, ask yourself if I could meet the request without changing the overall character of the story, which is maybe what I was going for? If not, then you're not being helpful. Specifics, specifics, specifics. And keep in mind that while I take requests into account, I will not necessarily agree with them, or I may not feel they reflect the preferences of the majority of the people reading. If the story goes in a direction you don't like, feel free to tell me, but I may not comply, and if I don't, feel free to stop reading.

Note: Questions about the plot or characters (that can be addressed in later chapters or follow-up stories), emotional reactions (positive or negative) to what's going on in the story, and suggestions for future chapters or stories are not criticism, constructive or otherwise. They are wonderful and inspiring, so please share. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Notes (Chapter 2): Thank you to all who reviewed Chapter 1! Wow! I hope you will follow along as this continues. It seems I've taken on a big responsibility, treating this subject, so hopefully I can do it justice. Special thank you to Lia Harkness for looking this over before I posted; I've made some changes since she saw it, so all errors are mine (and will be corrected if you find them and tell me about them). Chapter 3 is coming, though probably not for a few days, as real life must take priority, and I haven't written it yet.

=/\=

His encounter with _Voyager_'s EMH was as frustrating as that with Kathryn.

"I'm worried about the captain," he'd answered in response to the automatic query as to the nature of the medical emergency. "I have reason to believe she was," he steeled himself to pronounce the next word, "assaulted on her last away mission. She's exhibiting signs of unusual stress. I'm not sure what to do. I can't even touch her without her flinching."

"I see," answered the Doctor enigmatically. "Have you spoken with her about it?"

"Yes," he replied confidently. "It was our conversation that made me sure what was going on."

"So she told you she had been assaulted?" the Doctor asked pointedly.

"Well, no, but..."

"Do you not trust the captain to tell you if there is a matter of your concern?" the hologram interrupted.

"Actually, I don't," he heard himself reply, even as he was horrified by his own admission.

"And you believe she may have discussed the matter with me?" the EMH continued.

"Right," Chakotay answered, though he was becoming more and more unnerved by what was starting to seem like an inquisition.

"You do realize that, even if she had discussed such a matter with me — and I'm not saying she has — I would be bound by Doctor/patient confidentiality not to discuss it with you, unless I believed her unfit for duty and required you to take command?"

The commander sighed, realizing this was going nowhere, though something in the back of his mind sounded an alarm he didn't have time to listen to at the moment. "I suppose I do."

"Then this conversation is done," said the Doctor. "Computer, end program." And with that, he disappeared, leaving Chakotay alone and frustrated.

For a few days, nothing changed, and the commander had almost convinced himself that it didn't matter, as long as the captain appeared to be "coping." But then, exhausted from gamma shift, he was passing by the captain's quarters when he heard her scream.

Instinct kicked in, and he overrode the door.

He found her thrashing about in her bed: wild, unfocused...and asleep. He grasped her shoulders and attempted to hold her still. Instantly, her eyes opened wide, and she began to pummel him, hard, with both fists. "Get your hands off me!" she cried.

He immediately released her, pulled back, and waited for her to come to her senses. As recognition came to her eyes, so did anger...but the fear remained.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Are you okay? You were screaming, and I..."

"Just leave," she insisted, finally coherent but clearly quite displeased with his presence. "Please."

He nodded and obeyed.

While he had physically left her presence, his mind was constantly with her, worrying about her, and while a part of him chastised the rest of him for overstepping his bounds as first officer, the rest was consumed entirely with the desire to know what had happened and make it right.

_It was just a nightmare_, he told himself. _We all have them. But most people aren't rudely intruded upon when they do. No wonder she was embarrassed._

He almost convinced himself she was okay, and that he was being overprotective. Almost.

And then the inevitable happened. She was briefing the senior staff about an upcoming away mission at the next star system, and suddenly she was leaning heavily on the back of Tom Paris's chair. She faltered, and Chakotay leapt into action, grabbing her and supporting her slight weight.

The captain gave a startled cry, escaped from his grasp, and bolted from the room, hand over her mouth. He almost went after her. Almost.

But then his senses kicked in and he suddenly remembered the pattern. The Doctor had been told — or perhaps programmed to say — almost the exact words that she had fed him when he had originally inquired about her well-being. She'd reacted badly to his touch every single time since he'd become concerned about her. She wasn't touching the men. But...not so for the women.

"Torres," he ordered suddenly, glancing over at the engineer. "Go find her and help."

B'Elanna looked askance at him. "Are you serious?"

"I don't have time to explain," Chakotay said. "Just go. Please. You're the only one here that can do it."

B'Elanna looked like she'd just been asked to go on a suicide mission, but she took a deep breath before accepting the assignment. "All right."

Everyone in the conference room waited in apprehensive silence for the five minutes it took before the chief engineer commed.

"The captain's okay," she reported. "Just a bit ill. She says you're all dismissed. Torres out."

Chakotay thought he heard the sound of retching as the link terminated.

The next three days, the captain was nowhere to be seen. Orders were conveyed via text, and Chakotay suspected, based upon their content, that Kathryn was spying on the crew via the monitors. However, when he requested an audience with her, he was denied.

Finally, he made an executive decision to visit Sickbay, hoping that this time, with evidence to support his assessment that the captain was unfit for duty, the Doctor would be more willing to listen.

When he arrived, he was greeted by an unfamiliar face. She appeared to be a middle-aged woman with short, blonde hair and chubby cheeks, and was wearing a Starfleet medical uniform. She smiled warmly at him. "Hello, Commander Chakotay."

He tapped his communicator. "Security, Intruder Alert in Sickbay!" he called. The woman suddenly looked chagrined. "What was that for?" she asked. Then she looked down at herself, holding up her hands to see, then raised her eyes again, recognition seeming to dawn inside. "Oh, I forgot."

She then shimmered out of existence and was replaced by the familiar form of Voyager's EMH.

B'Elanna Torres appeared from around the corner. "Chakotay, you can cancel that alert. I've been modifying the Doctor's program. We didn't mean to alarm you."

He tapped his communicator again, looking annoyed. "Never mind, Tuvok. I was mistaken." He could visualize Tuvok's raised eyebrow of curiosity in his mind, but knew he could trust the Vulcan to comply without question. He'd explain later. After he understood it himself.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked her angrily.

She sighed. "Since the EMH here is our only doctor and Chief Medical Officer aboard, he's been serving patients of all genders. We decided that, in order to make some members of the crew who are uncomfortable with a male doctor more at ease for their examinations, it is important that he have a female form. He chose the appearance, which was trivial to change, but I've been working on the personality. Doctor Zimmerman modeled the program after himself, and simply making the EMH _look _ female might not be enough to provide the illusion of being with a female doctor, given that he acts so...well, you know."

_Some members of the crew. She must mean the captain. She probably reacted the same way to the Doctor as she did to me. Why didn't I think of this solution?_

Chakotay then realized there was a way to address his earlier suspicions, sparked by the Doctor's behavior last time he'd attempted to talk to him about the captain. "B'Elanna, before you began to enhance the Doctor's program, did you check to see if anyone else had recently made any modifications?" The Doctor cocked his head, looking interested in the response.

She nodded hesitantly. "I did."

"And had anyone?" he asked, hoping desperately for a negative reply.

"That information's classified," B'Elanna admitted. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't."

_Classified_, the commander repeated to himself mentally. The only person on board with the status to classify it would be the captain. And, if no modifications had been made, she would have had no reason to do so. Furthermore, if B'Elanna had known that there had been no modifications, then she would have said so.

So basically, B'Elanna had just confirmed that the captain had been mucking with the Doctor's program.

This was a problem.

"B'Elanna, may I talk to you in private, please?" he asked, glaring in the direction of the Doctor.

Torres nodded first at Chakotay, then at the Doctor, who gave the order to deactivate himself.

"What's on your mind?" the engineer asked.

"It's the captain. Obviously she's not okay, and you know more than I do. I want to help, but I don't know what to do." The commander hoped he did not sound too desperate.

"Chakotay, I can't discuss this with you," B'Elanna replied regretfully. "I just can't. It wouldn't be right or fair to the captain to talk about her behind her back. But I will tell you this: if there were something you could do to help, you'd be asked. And I'm not confirming or denying that there's anything to help with."

The commander was about to make a case, try to argue why it would be okay in this instance, but after opening his mouth to reply, he quickly closed it, realizing that arguing with B'Elanna would be futile at best and counterproductive at worst. It seemed like she was already on the case, and he trusted her with his life, so why not the captain's? In fact, he had already trusted her with the captain's well-being when he sent her after her when she bolted out of the conference room...

But he still wanted to help, despite Torres's implication that because he hadn't been asked, there was nothing he could do. He refused to accept that. Wasn't there _always_ something he could do? On the other hand, B'Elanna seemed to be doing something herself...and he had to admit, given what he'd observed, it had as much of a chance of working as anything else...

He fought his protective urges down once more and steeled himself to simply _wait_ for this to resolve on its own. He felt helpless, but he had now been told by more than one person that waiting was all he could do. "All right," he conceded, nodding his head. But he couldn't _completely_ let it go. "Just, let me know, if there's anything I can do," he begged.

Lieutenant Torres nodded in return. "I will."

=/\=


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 3): Wow, I'm overwhelmed! So many follows, faves, and reviews! Thank you, all of you. I'm so appreciative to have you aboard for the ride. Also, huge thank you to Lia Harkness who looked over my first draft of this chapter and provided some valuable insight and direction. It's been rewritten since she saw it, so all errors are mine.

=/\=

It had been over a week since Captain Janeway had made any public appearance aboard _Voyager_. The crew was starting to talk, mostly in hushed whispers in the corridors and the mess hall, but occasionally in the form of questions directed squarely at the ship's first officer—and to his dismay, Commander Chakotay had no good answers to give.

After an arduous internal struggle, the commander had given up requesting an audience with the captain; he forced himself to acknowledge that she didn't want to see him, and that the best thing he could do for Kathryn was to leave her alone, as she herself had repeatedly requested and the ship's doctor and chief engineer had also urged. Reluctantly, he'd even accepted that she needed time to herself: to heal, or whatever she was doing. She still conveyed her orders, and answered reports, but without face-to-face communication—not even a video conference. He was left with not only his usual responsibilities, but the delegated parts of hers: any business that needed to be conducted in person, whether it be a visual check of Engineering, a casual survey of the mess hall to observe which crew members were becoming isolated—besides the captain, of course— or the resolution of a dispute among the crew. The commander was a patient man, but he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer without betraying his inner turmoil by doing something he'd regret.

And then _she_ requested _him_, in her ready room. He wasn't sure exactly how she'd arrived, since nobody had seen her in the halls in days, and he was sure he'd have received word if someone had glimpsed her along the way, for it would have been an event worth mentioning. Curiosity overtook him; although his feet ached from double-duty bridge time and his neck was so tense, it felt as if it were about to snap in two, his legs carried him swiftly towards his destination.

As the doors swished shut, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. He found her on the couch, facing away from him: one leg crossed over the other, torso twisted towards the viewport, elbow on the back of the couch, chin resting in her hand. She didn't turn around as he entered and stood at attention before her.

However, she seemed to sense his presence, as she addressed him as soon as he became still. "I've decided you're right," she spoke quietly, contemplatively. "I'm not fit for duty, and you'll need to take over, immediately if possible."

He drew in a sharp breath; he'd been prepared neither for her resignation, nor the directness with which it was delivered. Clenching his hands into fists, he uttered the only word that came immediately to his mind. "No."

That got her attention. She turned around to face him, confusion and dismay etched into her countenance. "No?! Chakotay, this isn't a choice. I've been watching you; you're ready."

He sighed. "That may be, but I'm not willing."

"Fine," she conceded. "Then get me Tuvok. He'll make a fine captain."

"Get him yourself." He spoke as softly as she, but his intonation belied the steadiness of his voice, challenging her to rebuke him, to defy him, even to punish him...anything to prove she was still in command. Even her attempt at resignation had been delivered with the kind of authoritative finality that only a starship captain could provide. And only a fool would so blatantly refuse such an important order. Was he a fool? He was about to find out.

She raised a hand to her chest, but hesitated, hovering a few centimeters away from her communicator. "He'll be free to do with you what he pleases," she pointed out. "You're insubordinate. Are you prepared for brig time?"

The commander did not hesitate. "I'm sure whatever he has in mind for me will be logical. I can handle it."

He braced himself, but still she hesitated, dropping her hand back into her lap, her face morphing from anger to genuine puzzlement. There was silence for a moment, and finally she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Frustration and anger took hold within every bone in his body, overriding any consideration for tact he might otherwise have harbored. "Where shall I start?" he spat. "How about the fact that I never said you were unfit for duty? As I recall, you were the one who asked, and I gave my reply."

The anger in his eyes was matched, briefly, by fire in hers. "You had concerns. You approached me with them."

"And you shot me down," he reminded her. "And rightfully so. You're doing just fine as captain, no matter what personal issues you're attending to." Although he hoped he would show her what he could plainly see—that she was as competent as ever—saying the words reminded him that he was speaking to a wounded creature, and looking over at her, seeing the tears in her eyes even as her gaze rested on the door behind him, he realized he was pouring salt in those wounds. Immediately, he wrestled his rage down into the depths of his soul, his voice mellowing as he allowed sympathy to surface. "Now, if you need more time to attend to those personal issues, I'll understand. I'll do whatever you ask. But I'm not taking your job, not permanently. Not when I know you love it, and that the crew needs you."

She pursed her lips but did not speak for quite some time, apparently absorbing his tirade and processing it. He patiently awaited her reply, and finally it came: in the form of a low, cracking voice, barely a whisper. "What if I told you those things that you 'know' are no longer true—and perhaps, were never true?"

He sucked in breath, then chose his words carefully. "I suppose I'd have to respectfully disagree."

She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for the first time since their last meeting in her ready room. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Exasperated, he opened his arms in a gesture of resignation. "Then educate me."

This time, when she turned away, lifting her legs up onto the couch and hugging her knees to her chest, the silence persisted until he could wait no longer. "Maybe you could start by telling me what was in that class I missed due to my unfortunate state of anatomy."

Once again, his weak attempt at humor was ignored, but she looked up sharply, clearly startled by his reference. "I should never have mentioned that. You caught me in a...moment of weakness." She punctuated her words with a half-hearted wave of her hand. "Forget I said it."

His fists clenched and unclenched as he attempted to cool his boiling blood, his filters once more obscured by proverbial steam. "So, women have to train to be taken advantage of, and aren't even allowed to admit they've been trained? Color me suspicious, but that sounds fishy to me."

Her voice was far calmer than he would have expected as she focused once again on a point behind his head. "As I said, you have no idea what you're talking about. You can't possibly understand."

"Try me," he challenged, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, he thought perhaps she was going to admit what had happened on that planet, or at least, give him a rundown of the syllabus. But her answer was resolute, an echo of his earlier response to her original request upon the commencement of this meeting. "No."

"Then I suppose I have no further business here," he answered quietly, dropping his arms once more to his sides and turning to leave, not waiting to be dismissed.

"You can't do this to the crew," she prodded to his back. "You'll get them all killed."

He spun back around and waited contemplatively before replying. "_You_ haven't gotten them killed yet," he pointed out. "And you won't let that happen, not over your dead body."

She nodded, lowering her feet back to the ground and clasping her hands together in her lap, her voice dangerous, raspy, and low. "You're right. I'll call Tuvok. You're dismissed."

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a warning tone, repeating herself at a crescendo. "Dismissed!"

As he had hundreds of times before, he obeyed. But for the first time, as he left the ready room, he thought to himself: _what have I done?_

And as he sat in his chair on the bridge, he realized he'd forgotten to ask perhaps the most important question of all. Had the captain visited the Doctor, perhaps in his — _her_ new form? Somehow, he suspected she had not. Or, if she had, she may have reprogrammed the hologram yet again.

Chakotay had some thinking to do, and he suspected he would soon have a plethora of time in which to do so.

=/\=


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 4): Sorry it took a little longer for this one; RL has been busy. Thank you to the lovely Lia Harkness for once again giving this a look-see. As usual, it has been revised since she last saw it, so I take responsibility for all errors. Also thank you to all of those who have left reviews, faved and followed the story, and sent me pm's!

=/\=

Chakotay's foot couldn't seem to stop vibrating up and down; the nervous energy that coursed through every vein in his body needed an outlet, and his lower appendage was apparently the last stop. It had been nearly three hours and he had not yet been relieved of duty, nor reprimanded, nor had any interaction with anyone that indicated that his last conversation with the captain had even happened.

He was worried.

Tuvok did not have bridge duty this shift, but had Captain Janeway met with him as planned, the conference ought to have ended quickly. Unless, of course, they were discussing something so important and complicated that it required a lengthy discourse...something like Chakotay's own status? He needed information. Quickly, he tapped his communicator and called for the chief of security, hoping that the Vulcan was not currently speaking with the captain.

The commander was terse. "Tuvok, are you busy?"

The security chief was just as brief. "I am always busy, Commander. Your point?"

"Are you able to meet with me in my office about a matter of utmost importance to the ship?" he asked, hoping he did not sound too desperate.

"Always," Tuvok answered. "I shall see you in five minutes."

The commander breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that Tuvok's instant availability most likely indicated that he had not been with the captain during the call. More importantly, however, Tuvok's obeisance indicated that Chakotay still outranked him, and therefore it seemed that Tuvok hadn't yet met with the captain at all. But why not? When the commander had left the ready room, the captain had indicated that she was about to call for Tuvok, so why hadn't she? Or had she, and then not asked him to take over? Or had he refused as well?

Determined to spend the next five minutes figuring out exactly what he was going to talk to Tuvok about—and how he would approach the subject without being shut down as he had been when he'd attempted to speak with the Doctor, B'Elanna Torres, and the captain herself—he retreated to his office to await his guest. As he handed over the bridge to Lieutenant Paris, the pilot gave him an odd look, which he did not have the energy to completely decipher, but definitely included curiosity and concern. He hoped his behavior—not to mention the seemingly sudden urgent call to Tuvok—hadn't been too unnerving for the rest of the bridge staff, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care.

When the doors slid open to allow entrance to a stone-faced Vulcan, who approached his desk and then stood at attention, much as the commander himself had done before the captain not too long ago, Chakotay found himself momentarily flustered, but his panic instantly gave way to a tentative plan.

He did not ask the Vulcan to sit, as he knew that Tuvok preferred to stand.

"Thank you for coming, Lieutenant," he started, giving himself a moment to compose his thoughts before continuing. "I have some concerns, and to address them, I would like you to answer a few questions."

The raised eyebrow indicated annoyance that he wasn't being more specific, but as usual, Tuvok complied. "Indeed. I am listening."

"Let's start with a hypothetical," he tried, knowing that asking outright would likely be met with similar resistance to that he had encountered previously when prying into the captain's personal affairs. "If the captain were to order you to take over as captain, what would your response be?"

The eyebrow climbed even higher. "I suppose I would first question why she would be handing over her duties to me rather than to you."

Chakotay sighed. "Let's say she asked me first, and I refused."

As the eyebrow reset itself, the Vulcan appeared quite puzzled, at least as much as his impassive face would allow. "Why would you refuse to take over as captain?"

"Perhaps I disagreed with her reasons for stepping down," Chakotay answered carefully, attempting to keep his voice steady so as not to betray the not-so-hypothetical reasons for the conversation.

"Commander, while I have known you and the captain to have disagreements, I have never seen you disobey a direct order, except to save the captain or the ship. I must admit I cannot posit a plausible explanation for your refusal to take over her duties upon request. The only reason you would disobey her is because she was impaired, and in that case, you would relieve her of duty whether she had requested to be relieved or not."

Feeling deflated, Chakotay paused a moment, contemplating Tuvok's impeccable logic. "All right, so hypothetically speaking, I may have been acting emotionally and illogically. Assuming that I had refused to take over, and the captain subsequently asked you, what would your response be?"

Tuvok's answer was easy. "I would obey orders and take over."

"Right," Chakotay answered, feeling foolish for even asking, but then continuing with trepidation, "And what would you do about me?"

Tuvok thought for a moment before replying. "I suppose I would order you to Sickbay for an evaluation."

"Not the brig for insubordination?" Chakotay asked, confused.

"Your actions would not constitute a threat to the ship," Tuvok pointed out. "A loss, perhaps, but not a direct threat, as long as you were refusing command. You would have no power with which to threaten the ship. Therefore, my primary concern would be with your state of mind."

"And what about the captain?" Chakotay pointed out. "Would you not be concerned about her state of mind?"

The eyebrow went up again. "I will point out that it is the captain's prerogative to relay her duties to whomever she chooses, for any reason. I trust that she would only do so if she believed it were in the best interest of the ship."

"Thank you, Tuvok," Chakotay answered, attempting to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You may go."

The Vulcan gave a slight nod of his head and exited as ordered.

The commander sat for quite some time, mulling over what he had been told. It was clear that the chief of security had not been handed command, because Chakotay hadn't been ordered to Sickbay. But why would the captain threaten to call her second officer, and then not call him?

The lieutenant's words echoed in his brain: _she believed it was in the best interest of the ship_. Then, he remembered what she had said when he had first walked into her ready room: _I'm not fit for duty_.

So...Kathryn truly believed that she was not fit for duty, and that it was in the best interest of the ship to step down. But then, when he had refused to take over, why would she not hand over command immediately to the next in line? What, exactly, would impair her to the point where he could take over, but Tuvok could not? Had he successfully convinced her that she was, in fact, fit for duty? Why then, had she allowed him to leave the ready room feeling as if he were headed for a long stint in the brig? Had she just wanted him to squirm, and if so, why?

Or...was it just that Kathryn was afraid to speak to Tuvok, to admit her weakness in front of him? Had her request been a cry for help, and he'd been so callous as to ignore it?

Was she okay?

Suddenly he wondered where she had been for the last few hours. Was she still in her ready room? How would she react if he entered uninvited?

He almost queried the computer as to her whereabouts, but then realized that, unless he was prepared to just take over her duties as originally asked—and that was assuming the offer still stood, which, given his behavior, he wasn't so sure about—it didn't matter, because any meeting with her was unlikely to go better than the last one, and might in fact exacerbate the situation.

He needed more information. Preferably about this mysterious "training" that only women received.

He searched the official Starfleet database for any documentation of the course, to no avail, but to little surprise either. _It makes sense that it's not available publicly, if men aren't even supposed to know about it_.

He then attempted to circumvent security and break into the classified files, again with no luck. It seemed that, whatever this training, was either not well documented, or extremely well hidden.

Then, it occurred to him that there was one more place he could look. If he were uncomfortable with even the idea of the training, it stood to reason that those with existing conflicts with Starfleet might agree with his sentiments, and that those people might have made their objections known to others. Perhaps some of them were women who had been enrolled in the course. If they'd been in conflict with the organization that provided them with the instruction, they would have no motivation to keep the course material secret as requested.

"Computer, access Maquis records from the _Val Jean_. Query for the terms 'sexual assault' or 'rape' and 'training' or 'instruction', in the context of written grievances."

"Forty-seven matches," the computer answered evenly.

Chakotay inhaled sharply in response to the large number. "Send them to my screen," he ordered, steeling himself for a long and difficult read.

=/\=


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 5): Sorry for the delay on this. I'd like to make the excuse that I was reading "Acts of Contrition," but let's be real here: I spent 20 minutes flipping through it, looking for J/C bits. Mostly I was just procrastinating. Thank you again to the lovely Lia Harkness, who still beta'ed this after being worn out by a grueling few days of RL! All remaining errors are mine. And continuing thanks to all of those reviewing, and those who have faved and followed the story. You're spurring me to continue! Also, next chapter soon. :)

=/\=

The more Chakotay read, the sicker he felt. Nearly every one of the ex-Starfleet women who had contributed a letter to the manifesto had mentioned the training, at least in passing. Some didn't say much, other than that it was an outrage, but others gave enough detail to make the commander feel guilty—not just for pledging his service, once again, to the same organization that had prepared and administered the course, but just for being male. He wondered, too, how he could have been so oblivious to the issue: even the grievances he'd seen, he hadn't paid enough attention to. He'd just assumed that they were all alike: Cardassians taking Federation worlds, and Starfleet doing nothing about it. He hadn't imagined there could be political and social problems within the Federation itself. Hadn't humanity evolved beyond that? _Apparently not_. Like a stone in his stomach, the weight of responsibility began to bear down on him, pushing him to act.

_But how?_ They were tens of thousands of light years from Starfleet command. He didn't even know if anyone aboard _Voyager_ besides the captain had even received the training. And she herself had said she would have modified it to include everyone—which was puzzling, given that it seemed to be ultimately harmful, especially to her—but that she lacked the authority to do so.

What he didn't get from the letters was who had decided it was a good idea to 'prepare' women to be violated and to deal with the aftermath, and which incompetent, or—he shivered at the thought—downright malicious members of the Starfleet leadership had come up with the content of the course.

One thing was for sure: the training had no intention of protecting women from harm, but rather teaching them to expect it, and when it inevitably happened, to consider it their duty to Starfleet to keep silent about it, ostensibly to protect diplomatic relations. It occurred to the commander that it might have all started with the Cardassians, who were known for their particular brand of brutality unleashed upon anyone they were fortunate enough to capture: if their victims had started coming forward en masse, Starfleet would have had political pressure to enter into a war for which it was unready, and which it might lose.

Chakotay was reminded of why he'd joined the Maquis in the first place: Starfleet wasn't willing or able to do what it took to protect its people: the Federation preferred to play it safe, and maybe that strategy would work eventually, as they'd build up the strength to destroy their enemies—_or make peace with them_, he thought, shuddering again—once and for all, but in the meantime, a lot of people were suffering, and the Federation was turning a blind eye, and even enlisting the help of the victims themselves to keep the proverbial windows shuttered. Brainwashing survivors into thinking they'd invited what had happened to them, and that it was all part of the job they'd signed up for. Starfleet women: trained, hard-working, brilliant...and being treated like two-credit Orion slave girls. It was no wonder they—or at least, those brave enough to question the wisdom of a powerful and reputedly peaceful organization including thousands of worlds and cultures—were crying out for justice.

But it got worse. There were indications that Federation enemies were not the only perpetrators of this practically-endorsed assault. One particular letter had struck him particularly hard: it was from a Bajoran named Ro Laren, who had served as an ensign aboard the _Enterprise_. She told of having her earring ripped forcefully from her ear by her commanding officer, and her tale only got worse from there: her ear was not the only one of her body parts bleeding by the end of the night. Unfortunately, her commanding officer—the one that had abused her—was the one to whom she was to report any issues. Instead of reporting the incident to the person who had made it happen, she'd joined the Maquis. And even then, she'd cited issues with the Cardassians and loyalty to her home world as her reasons for defecting. Only the letter was proof otherwise—and he strongly suspected, especially given that he had not seen it before—that she had not expected anyone to read it. It seemed the letters, while extremely enlightening to him now, were intended mostly as an outlet for the rawest of rage initiates harbored; the hope was that, if they could vent a little, they'd be less volatile. Even rebels needed some measure of order to function, and intense anger, while a useful motivational factor, could also be a serious impediment to structure.

At least he was able to console himself with the realization that in not publicizing this ample evidence of wrongdoing by Starfleet—perhaps in an effort to tackle more manageable and immediate issues—the Maquis were negligent too. He needn't feel badly about abandoning one organization for the other, either time: they were equally culpable. It seemed, it was a problem nobody was willing to tackle: it was easier to focus on external enemies, murder, and property rights than the disrespect and mistreatment of a subset of people within a supposedly-utopic union of diverse societies. And, he realized, an insistence on cultural tolerance might make it nearly impossible to object to such things, as anti-imperialism was written into the Federation's founding principles, starting with the Prime Directive.

Like dust after an explosion, frustration once again settled all around him, clouding his judgment. If neither the Federation nor the Maquis dared tackle the issue, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop this apparent epidemic of violence against women and the condoning thereof.

Or was there?

Suddenly he remembered the captain—and her inexplicable silence following her promise to contact Tuvok. He never had figured out why she hadn't followed through on her indicated intentions.

He could probably find out...if only he could get the captain to talk to him again.

One thing was for certain: he owed her an apology. Personally, for disobeying and distrusting her, and generally, on behalf of the Federation and all male-kind for unforgiveable crimes against her gender. And he intended to deliver it as soon as possible.

He tapped his communicator. "Chakotay to Captain Janeway."

No response.

"Computer, location of Captain Janeway," he demanded, his heart suddenly racing.

"Captain Janeway is in the ready room," the computer provided cheerfully.

Immediately, he had traversed the short distance between his office and hers, and was ringing the chime, with no more response than he'd gotten to his comm.

Now overwhelmed with apprehension, he overrode the door and entered without permission.

She was in the same place he'd left her: on the couch, in the dark. Now, however, her knees were drawn to her chest, and she seemed to be huddled into as tight a ball as she could manage. As he cautiously approached, he heard the chattering of her teeth, and noted that she was shivering violently.

He knelt down before her and spoke softly. "Kathryn?"

She turned towards him then, daggers in her glare. "Don't touch me."

He nodded. "I won't."

=/\=


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's note (Chapter 6): Thanks once again to Lia Harkness for her thoughtful feedback and good eye for inconsistencies! Any remaining errors are mine; I've edited quite a bit since she saw it last. And thank you to everyone who has written me a review or pm, or added the story to their faves or alerts: you keep me going, especially when you 'get' me! Finally, it seemed fitting to post this particular chapter on the Day of Atonement: may those of you celebrating have a peaceful and productive fast.

=/\=

"Should I call the Doctor?" Chakotay asked his trembling captain.

"No. Please," was all she could get out between clatters of her teeth.

"Okay," he conceded, intent upon not repeating his mistake of contradicting her wishes, even though he suspected she had not seen the new version of the EMH, and was basing her request upon the assumption that the Doctor was still...well, himself. For now, Chakotay was determined to do whatever Kathryn said, and hopefully, it would help. "I have an idea. I'll be right back."

Rising easily and jogging to the replicator, he returned promptly with a thick blanket and a cup of steaming tea, the latter of which he placed upon the coffee table in front of her. Careful not to touch Kathryn, he draped the comforter over her shoulders, and gratefully, she grabbed the edges and pulled them around herself, though her shaking did not perceptibly decrease in intensity.

The commander glanced down at the mug, then back up at the auburn-haired head perched atop the huddled mass underneath the blanket. "It's chamomile. I'll leave it on the coffee table and you can sip it when you're ready." With that, he knelt once again so that his head was level with hers, knowing that either towering over her or cowering below her could make her even more uncomfortable than she already was. He also harbored a remote hope that she would make eye contact with him and see in his face that he was sincere in his desire to help. She did, in fact, look across at him, but only briefly before turning her eyes once more towards her knees, covered now by the comforter.

"Thank you," she managed to say.

"Have you been here since we talked before?" he asked, though he feared the answer. It would certainly explain why she hadn't called Tuvok: if she'd been like this the whole time, she wouldn't have been able.

"Sort of," she admitted through clenched teeth. "I had to get up a few times."

He gulped, imagining a number of possible reasons that would have forced her to rise, all of them unpleasant, especially seeing as he knew for certain she wasn't alluding to any official ship's business. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them back. "I am so sorry," he tried. "I should have believed you, and followed orders. I was being an ass."

She surprised him then. "It's okay. You were only doing what you thought was right." He noted that her breathing seemed slightly slower now, her tremors ever-so-slightly less than when he had found her a few minutes ago.

"Still, I'm sorry. I want to help. Do you want me to get B'Elanna or one of the other women?" he offered.

She shook her head. "I don't...no. Please, I can't. Nobody else." He knew she was sincere because instantly, in response to his query, she began to shake harder again, and her face went pale.

"All right," he answered quickly, hoping to allay whatever fears were plaguing her by unequivocally withdrawing his suggestion. "Does that mean I can stay?" Chakotay asked, hoping desperately that the answer was yes, because he honestly didn't think she should be alone right now, and was already kicking himself for leaving her for so long while he was obsessing over his own fate, and then digging into her affairs.

Kathryn nodded in response. She seemed resigned to the fact that her first officer wasn't going to abandon her again, although he would have if she insisted. At this point, he would do literally anything for her: he'd stab himself in the heart and bleed to death at her feet if he thought it would make things right.

"May I sit?" Chakotay asked carefully, gesturing to the far side of the couch. Kneeling was beginning to hurt, and though in a way, he welcomed the pain as a woefully insufficient penance for everything he'd done to make this all worse, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get back up if he kept his current position much longer.

She nodded again, so he rose from the floor and sat in the opposite corner from where she was curled: as far as he could get from her while still properly seated upon the same piece of furniture.

He sighed and observed her for a moment. Her condition didn't appear to be changing very fast, and she seemed to be quite uncomfortable, even with the blanket.

Now was as good a time as ever, he decided uncertainly. He realized that, although he might ordinarily prefer to stay away from heavier topics while she was feeling unwell, the fact that she was currently incapacitated meant that she was stuck listening to what he had to say, and he didn't know if he'd get another chance. He needed to tell her what he'd learned.

"I know about the training," he admitted. "It turns out, quite a number of the Maquis women left Starfleet because of the way they were treated."

Her eyes went wide, and though she didn't speak, her expression implored him to continue.

"They wrote letters," he explained. "All Maquis were encouraged to contribute complaints when they first joined. To show their motives, and to give them an outlet to vent, so they could focus on working within the organization for our collective goals, rather than their personal vendettas. Mostly, nobody read them, but I had them on file on the _Val Jean_, and since I copied the memory core before the ship was destroyed, they're in _Voyager_'s data banks now. You could read them...although, it's probably not a good idea right now."

Contemplatively, she looked up at the ceiling, and he tried not to let on that he'd noticed the tear running down her cheek. Finally, she leveled her head and answered him, and her voice was surprisingly calm, but tinged with darkness, "Of course they didn't like following rules and regulations. That's why they joined the Maquis. Their reports are biased, Chakotay...you can't trust them."

He forced down his instinct to argue with her, to point out that the Maquis had rules and regulations too, and that it seemed unlikely that someone would make something like that up. Not to mention that he could easily take offense at the implication that the Maquis were not as honorable as Starfleet, essentially an attack upon his own character, having been one of the Maquis leaders. Instead of responding as he normally would, he accepted her objection, then clarified. "That may be, and I would be ecstatic to learn that the allegations were fabricated. All forty-seven of them."

"Forty-seven?" she echoed disbelievingly.

He nodded. "Variations on a theme, all of them. They claimed they were told that, as women, they should expect to be treated as—how can I put this?—less than men. Objectified, marginalized, even abused. And that they should be thankful for the opportunity for service only they could provide to Starfleet. That unwanted advances should be taken as compliments, and that sometimes their bodies were needed as bait or leverage."

Another tear made its way down Kathryn's cheek, and again, Chakotay pretended not to notice.

"That's an exaggeration," she tried.

"So it's not completely inaccurate?" he surmised.

She looked directly into his eyes before she spoke, and seemed to gather courage from his gaze. "No."

"Kathryn, I need to know. Did you do something you didn't want to, with someone down on that planet, because you felt it was your obligation to Starfleet or to _Voyager_?"

She shook her head. "No...I mean, I don't know. I'm not sure," she stammered.

He wanted to cry. "As far as I'm concerned, your body is not something to bargain with," he insisted. "You never have an obligation to use it against your will, not for the ship or for anyone aboard."

Her tears were coming faster now, but they were still silent. "No, you don't understand," she shot back. "I don't _remember_ what happened."

Chakotay inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly in an effort to calm himself. "You may not remember," he pointed out, "but your body does."

=/\=


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 7): So sorry for the delay on this one. RL kicked my donkey and my donkey kicked back. Not a fun week...and I'm still pretty out of it...but meanwhile, Lia Harkness continues to be her awesome self and beta for me, despite an increasing load of responsibilities of her own and obstacles thrown in her way. Thank you, girl! All remaining errors or other issues are mine. And continuing thanks to all those who have expressed their thoughts about and support for this fic in various ways and asked for more. This is for you.

=/\=

Chakotay may have succeeded in calming himself slightly, but he knew instantly that the effect of his words on his companion had been anything but soothing. In the space of a few seconds, Kathryn's countenance transitioned from red to pale to greyish-green, and then, faster than he'd ever seen her move, she threw the blanket towards him and simultaneously slid off the couch and dashed away.

The commander cursed as the harsh sound of retching followed that of hurried footsteps. The cacophony continued for several minutes, during which he felt as if he were frozen in place: every instinct in his body screamed to go to her, to hold her in his arms, to comfort her, but his brain masterfully blocked each urge in turn. _You promised not to touch her_, he stoically reminded himself. _Your presence will not comfort her_, he repeated silently, over and over while each time the noise wafted through the room, he cringed.

Finally, she quieted, and only then did he feel safe to rise from his previous position: he made his way towards the bathroom, but stopped outside the door. "Kathryn," he called softly. He almost continued with, "are you okay?" but bit his tongue, as it was a question he already knew the answer to, and doubtless she knew he knew, and would find the question annoying at best. Instead he offered, "Can I get you anything? Help in some way?"

His only response was something between a whimper and a moan. He clenched his fists, deliberating as to what to do next. Finally he spoke again. "May I come in?"

He wasn't really expecting a reply, and certainly not a positive one, but he was surprised to hear a weak, "I guess," coming through the doorway. He rushed in immediately.

She was slumped against the wall next to the commode, her knees once again pressed against her chest with her arms hugging them. She looked exhausted and ill. Still, he did not approach, did not attempt to touch her. As bad as things were, he knew that with the wrong move, he would make them worse.

"I'm so sorry," he tried, squatting down so that he was nearer to her eye level.

She waved him off without meeting his gaze. "Never mind. I should apologize to you."

"For what?" he asked fearfully.

She swiped a hand across her forehead, brushing hair away from her face, looked up at him briefly, then back down again. "Everything."

He sighed, wondering what exactly she thought she'd done wrong, and how exactly he was going to convince her otherwise. One thing was certain: he was going to need help...but she needed to agree to it. "May I take you to Sickbay?" he asked again.

Unsurprisingly, she shook her head, but did not speak.

"Why?" he ventured to ask.

She shook her head again. "I'll be fine. The Doctor can't do much."

"Have you already seen the Doctor?" Chakotay inquired, deliberately avoiding a pronoun to see if the captain would reveal which version she'd seen, if she'd been to Sickbay at all.

Kathryn nodded. "I did. He gave me some hypos, but I just ended up worse off than before once they wore off...and that was when they didn't make me sick right away. The problem's in my head; I have to deal with it there."

"Understood," he conceded, "but that's a bit difficult when the trigger memories aren't even accessible. I really wish you'd have a visit. You don't have to take any more hypos, but there's something there you should see."

"I'm tired," she admitted then, "and," she cringed slightly, "embarrassed. Any chance you'll leave me be and forget this whole thing happened?"

Now it was his turn to shake his head. "You wouldn't do that to any member of your crew who was hurting," he pointed out. "And I'm not going to do it to you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Does that mean you've reconsidered taking over?"

He nodded hesitantly, noting internally that his knees and thighs were starting to ache. "Only if you still want me to...and if you see the Doctor first," he insisted. "I can't in good faith relieve you of duty without an official medical opinion, for one thing."

She rolled her eyes at him, indicating that she saw through his excuse and knew exactly what he was trying to do. She also looked like she was about to fall over, and he was banking on the assumption that she'd be too exhausted to continue arguing with him.

He was right.

"Fine," she agreed. "I'll go."

"Can you walk?" he asked kindly, not sure what he'd do if the answer were negative. Emergency transport perhaps...

"I think so," she responded dubiously, then grabbed the toilet seat and hoisted herself up on unsteady legs. He resisted the urge to reach out and steady her, but gratefully rose to his feet as well with a small grunt. He watched silently as she stumbled to the sink, rinsed her mouth, and splashed water on her face while the waste receptacle automatically detected her departure and dematerialized the putrid output of her digestive system.

She seemed to realize that he wasn't going to let her make the journey on her own, but she didn't specifically ask him to accompany her: she merely turned on her heel and headed out towards the back door of the ready room, clearly not wanting to be seen on the bridge in her current state. He prepared to use his significantly larger body to block her from the view of any passing crewmen, but thankfully the hallway was barren as they made their way to the turbolift in silence and waited for it to arrive. The bedraggled captain stepped in first, followed by her first officer, who, after a few moments of awkward silence, decided to make the order. "Deck five."

Chakotay then tapped his communicator. "Sickbay, please initiate the secondary holographic doctor program, if it isn't running already. I will be arriving with a patient momentarily."

An unfamiliar female voice responded, "Acknowledged."

Kathryn looked up towards him questioningly, silently imploring him to explain what was going on.

He refused, instead addressing the unspoken question, but not fully answering it, as he figured it would be easier to show her directly. "You'll see."

As the doors opened and they entered, the commander trailing the captain by a few decimeters, Janeway was visibly taken aback at the sight of the unfamiliar hologram, cementing Chakotay's assumption that she had not been to sickbay since B'Elanna had programmed it. She shrank slightly towards her first officer, and he had to step slightly away to avoid inadvertent contact. _I promised not to touch her_, he reminded himself once again as he felt off-balance, moving in exactly the opposite way from that to which he was accustomed.

He turned to his captain. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to stay," he told her. "But I'll leave if you need me to. I'll just need a report from the Doctor afterwards."

Kathryn sighed. "It's okay, Chakotay. You dragged me here. You might as well stay."

He smiled slightly as he spoke, "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

The lady doctor grinned at them then and introduced herself. "Hello, Captain. I'm the new EMH. Mark 1.1 if you will. Female, obviously. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

Nervously, the commander watched his captain, noting that this hologram's personality was not a significant change from that of the male original, and wondering whether the captain's response could possibly be any different. Still, he was relieved to see her relax slightly and glance towards him for reassurance before speaking.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor," she started, clearly trying to calm herself down more than anything else: niceties were obviously an easy place to start: dictated, formal, prescribed. No chance for error, no chance to evoke anxiety. This was good. But would she open up to this new persona? He honestly had no idea.

She took a deep breath and then got straight to the point. "I need you to relieve me of duty, Doctor," she stated solidly, and then relaxed further, as if an enormous weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Chakotay watched with mounting concern.

"Are you ill?" asked the womanly hologram.

"Yes...er, I'm not sure," she stammered, visibly losing courage.

Chakotay interjected, "She's experiencing symptoms of acute stress, which haven't responded to standard treatments."

"I see," said the hologram lightly, shooting a disapproving glare at the first officer, as if to say: _please don't speak for my patient_. Then she turned back to Kathryn. "Captain, do you concur, and if so, do you know the cause of your symptoms?"

"Yes and no," she answered. These were apparently easy questions, though she did not elaborate.

"All right," said the blonde woman, "I'll need you to lie down on the biobed, and I'm going to put a neural monitor on you. Let's see if we can't get to the heart of this, shall we?"

Obediently, Janeway hoisted herself up and lay down, closing her eyes as the instrument was placed upon her forehead.

Under other circumstances, Chakotay might have held her hand, but instead, he placed his hands on his hips and waited patiently as the silence was broken only by the soft beeps and whirrs of the medical equipment.

Finally, the female doctor spoke. "Well, at least I know why you don't remember," she informed the captain. "Your brain has been altered to block a particular set of memory engrams."

"Who would do that?" Chakotay asked, almost ready to go to war with the culprit, as they seemed to have caused the captain so much pain and suffering.

"From the signature," the hologram explained, "it was almost certainly done right here in Sickbay, most likely by myself, or to be more specific, my male alter-ego. However, I have no record of the procedure."

"So not only did you perform the surgery, but you erased your memory of it? Who would order you to do such a thing?" He spoke without thinking, but the captain answered him with what he would have already known, had he stopped to consider the evidence.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks and towards her ears, and her voice was faint. "I would."

=/\=


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 8): Again, sorry for being so slow. Real life. Thank you once again to Lia Harkness, who took time from her own busy schedule to read this over for me and give me some useful comments. And, as usual, she hasn't seen the final version, so all errors are mine. And thank you to those continuing to be patient, follow along, and review and/or send me pm's! Your feedback is invigorating!

=/\=

Fury rose within Chakotay like wildfire; he could feel every molecule in his body pulsating with angry energy, accelerating to the point at which he wondered if he would sublime and disperse into the sterile air of Sickbay. He gripped the side of the biobed adjacent to where the captain lay; his knuckles turned white as his fists tightened as much as they could, and then somehow further, anchoring themselves against the tide that threatened to carry his hands to Kathryn's shoulders where they could shake some sense into her. He wanted to yell, to scream, to say to the captain, _What the hell were you thinking? _— but the words died in his throat, killed by the reasoning center of his brain, which apparently was still in some semblance of control.

As he took deep breaths, forcing himself to cool down slightly, it occurred to him that there was an obvious question to ask. He turned to the female doctor, who was in the process of detaching the no-longer-needed monitor from the captain's forehead. "Can you reverse the procedure?"

The captain sat up sharply at the question, knocking the neural device to the floor, and answered before the EMH 1.1 had the chance. "No," she commanded, her voice solid and authoritative. Then she shrank, lying back down by propping herself first on her elbows and then lowering her torso to the flat surface. In an instant, the captain was gone and only the wounded woman remained. "Please, no," she begged weakly, staring up at the dull, grey ceiling.

Chakotay sighed, then looked over at the holographic doctor, who was rising after bending down to retrieve the monitor that had fallen from Kathryn's forehead. She nodded before providing her own answer to his query. "It might be possible, but of course, not against the captain's will."

Making a firm resolution, the commander submitted a verbal request. "Could you leave us alone for a moment, please?"

The blonde doctor nodded. "Indeed. Deactivate emergency medical hologram." As she shimmered out of existence, Chakotay noted how odd the command seemed in her lilting voice.

He then turned his attention to the remaining woman in the room. She was staring despondently away from him, and he almost thought she wasn't going to speak to him, but then she did. "I must have done it for a good reason," she pointed out. "Reversing the procedure is too risky."

_Please don't freak out_, he wanted to beg her before pleading his case, but he didn't want to seem condescending. "You didn't know how it would affect you; I think it's safe to assume you didn't expect this. Perhaps remembering would be better. Besides, we can't find out what happened, and therefore why it's causing issues, if nobody remembers."

"Maybe the Doctor has it stored somewhere?" she tried unconvincingly.

"Maybe," Chakotay conceded, "and I promise we'll look first. But if there's no record, then I think the only alternative is to reverse the erasure. And then, perhaps, we can work through things and get you better."

She sat up again then and addressed him directly. "Don't you get it? It doesn't matter what happened, _especially_ if it's causing this. The fact is, something _did_ happen, as you yourself figured out and informed me in my ready room — and that means I am not qualified to captain this vessel. If I can't even deal with my own issues, and I can't avoid them in the first place, how am I supposed to keep anyone else — let alone a whole ship full of people — safe? Whatever happened, I _let_ it happen. I _made_ it happen. And as long as I'm in charge, I'm likely to let it happen to someone else under my command. There's no reason for this crew to trust me anymore, and maybe they never should have."

Although he wanted to argue with her, to tell her _that's the training talking_, to make her see reason and stop blaming herself, he noticed worriedly that now she was shaking hard once again. Chakotay quickly scanned the room, found a medical blanket folded in the corner, jogged a few paces to get it, and jogged back, then draped it over her as he had before. And as earlier, her trembles did not seem to ease. He wished he could do something more...

Perhaps he couldn't, but maybe someone else could. He spoke quickly. "Computer, reactivate emergency medical hologram, female version."

The blonde woman reappeared instantly, and surreptitiously Chakotay monitored the captain's response to see if the female doctor's presence would calm or upset her, but Kathryn seemed not to react at all.

Until the well-meaning doctor, observing the captain's panicked state, pulled out a hypospray, presumably filled with some sort of sedative.

_An easy fix, but not a permanent one_, he reminded himself as the captain quickly pulled herself into a tight ball under the blanket, reminding Chakotay of what she had described of her previous interactions with the Doctor...and the promise he'd made to her.

Chakotay reached out and grabbed the holographic arm that contained the medicinal delivery device. "Stop," he ordered. "We have to find another way."

"This is the most effective way I can treat her current symptoms," the EMH responded, confused as to why the commander would call for her and then prevent her from treating her patient.

Chakotay looked over at the trembling patient, who wasn't offering an opinion of her own. "I promised her no more hyposprays," he explained, not wanting to elaborate further for fear of violating her privacy; the effect of the drugs on her had been relayed to him in confidence, and while it might be medically relevant, she needed to provide that information herself. All he could say was, "It was the condition under which she was willing to come here."

At that, the female doctor nodded. "I understand. But there is nothing else I know how to do. She must calm down."

Suddenly the commander had an idea. "Thank you, Doctor," he addressed the blonde. "I think I know how to do that."

The EMH 1.1 gestured with her holographic hand for him to continue. "Go ahead," she invited, "do it your way." She seemed slightly annoyed, but hurting the hologram's feelings was the least of his worries.

He moved to the side of the captain's biobed, but kept a few inches distance between them. "Kathryn," he spoke softly, gently. "I need you to listen to my voice and follow my directions. Are you able to do that?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Good. I need you to count by sevens, starting with one."

"What?" she responded, clearly startled by the odd request, and calming slightly just at the distraction of surprise.

"Just do it," Chakotay insisted.

Kathryn sighed before fluently rattling off integers. "One, eight, fifteen, twenty-two, twenty-nine..."

As she continued, and the numbers became longer and more cumbersome to enunciate, she slowed down, and so too did her breathing. Finally, she seemed to near a semblance of a normal metabolic state; she'd stopped shivering, and had lowered the blanket to her lap, where she gathered its edges absent-mindedly in loose fists. "...one hundred and ninety-seven, two hundred and four..."

"You can probably stop now," he interrupted, and she complied, seeming relieved to abandon such a tedious task. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," she admitted, looking up at him uncertainly. "Thank you. How did you know to do that?"

"Anger issues," he explained. "It was a trick my therapist used to keep me from hitting things. Better for my knuckles: they weren't bleeding afterwards. Though I have to admit, it was a slightly more difficult task for me; I was usually exhausted before I hit one hundred." For a moment, he began to panic, wondering if mentioning his particular problem would seem threatening to Kathryn, but luckily she'd fixated on something else he'd said.

"You'd never hit one hundred, if you started with one. You'd go from ninety-nine to one hundred and six," she pointed out.

He chuckled slightly at that, recognizing that she was attempting to focus on just about anything other than what had upset her in the first place. "I started with a different number every time," he explained. "Otherwise I would have memorized them and it would have stopped working."

Suddenly Kathryn seemed to remember where she was, and her cheeks colored. "I'd better get back to my quarters," she told him, "now that we know what's going on. I should also transfer the command codes..."

Chakotay's heart sank in his chest, and then he remembered the other part of their bargain. "Not so fast," he reminded her. "You have not received a medical opinion that you are unfit for duty."

She turned to the EMH 1.1, who was still looking rather miffed. "Doctor?" she prompted hopefully.

=/\=


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Notes (Chapter 9): Thank you once again to Lia Harkness, who valiantly looked this over and provided her support. I have, however, altered it considerably since she saw it, so anything that you don't like, or that's in error, is my doing. (As usual, feel free to point out typos and other easily-fixable errors, and I will fix them promptly. I do my best to proofread, but everyone misses stuff occasionally.) Also, thank you to all who continue to read, review, fave, and follow this work! This is for you. :)

=/\=

Chakotay's heart leapt in his chest and began pounding vigorously, alerting him to something...he wasn't sure what...and telling him something...that he figured out quickly..._to stall_. "Stop," he heard himself say before he was actually conscious of forming the word. "Don't answer that, Doctor."

The hologram looked over at him questioningly, but then nodded.

Chakotay continued, looking directly into the blonde's holographic eyes. "May I speak with you in private?"

He didn't need to glance at the captain to know he was being affixed with the infamous 'death glare,' but right now, anything was better than the obvious response to her current issues..._wasn't it_?

_Voyager_'s CMO and first officer ducked into the medic's office, and the photonic doctor crossed her arms. "I trust this is important. I don't suppose the captain is too happy about our talking about her behind her back." She shot a look over her shoulder as if to emphasize the point.

"Yes," Chakotay confirmed. "I assume you were about to relieve her of duty, and I don't think that's a good idea."

An audible sigh escaped through holographic lips. "Glad to know you can make my medical decisions for me, Commander, but just for laughs, why don't you tell me why you know better than I do, starting with the assumption that I was about to relieve the captain of duty."

The commander gaped. "You weren't? I thought..."

"You thought what?" she spat out, unfolding her arms and using them to gesticulate wildly as she spoke. "That I was unaware of what she said to you while I was deactivated? That I would just discard her and let her fend for herself, when she's currently in serious condition, at least psychologically?"

Chakotay blinked, speechless.

"Everything that happens in here is recorded," explained the blonde, dropping her arms to her sides as she seemed to calm slightly, "and I am specifically informed if what occurs indicates a physical or psychological risk to any of my patients or their guests. It's not any of your business, and I'm vaguely violating Doctor/patient privilege by telling you this, but under the circumstances, I see no other choice, since you don't seem to trust me to do my duty otherwise, and you seem to be privy to most of what's going on anyway. In any case, I am as troubled by her attitude as you are, and you might be surprised to know that I don't believe relieving her of duty is going to be productive either. "

"Good," the commander finally got out, ignoring the pang of guilt ignited in his chest at the reminder that he was blatantly violating his captain's privacy. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms once again. "Are we? What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"Uh," Chakotay started, not sure of exactly where to begin. "Well, you know what she said. She blames herself for what happened, even though she doesn't even _know_ what happened. She's isolated herself, and relieving her of duty will only allow her to isolate herself further. And without responsibilities, she might..." He paused for a moment, thinking, then raised a hand to his chin and stroked his stubble slightly before dropping it again. "I'm not sure what, but I don't think I want to know."

"I believe what you are attempting to express," said the hologram, her voice full of annoyance, "is that the captain is depressed, and that currently, her duties as captain are the only thing motivating her to continue living."

"You believe she's suicidal?" Chakotay practically squeaked.

The blonde doctor sighed. "I didn't say that. I said that _you_ implied it. It is what you fear, is it not?"

"I don't know," Chakotay admitted. "I'm just worried. I don't think she'd go that far; it's against everything she stands for." He realized with alarm that he was mostly trying to convince himself of what he was saying. "She'd rather suffer than die. And maybe that's worse."

"Brilliant, Commander. I am impressed with your powers of deduction," said the hologram, her voice anything but sincere. "Now, as long as we're here, there is an important matter that I'd like to address with you."

Chakotay nodded. "What's going on?"

"Well, as you know, I have now been both male and female. While Lieutenant Torres has helped me with my program, I have been 'tested' on several crewmembers to see if I can 'pass' as female. I am quite disturbed to report that I am treated differently depending on my gender."

"What?!" Chakotay responded, astonished. "Are you sure it isn't just that they're used to the male version of you, and this one is new and unfamiliar?"

"You tell me," she responded. "I'm pretty sure that, had I been my usual self, you would not have questioned my medical judgment and stopped me from prescribing treatment to my patient. Is that just because you don't trust the 'new' me, because it's not the 'old' me?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Chakotay admitted, raising one arm and rubbing his forehead, and placing the other on his hip. "I just...wanted to make sure you didn't make a mistake. The captain's well-being is important to me."

"Which is exactly why you ought to entrust her care to her chief medical officer!" she responded angrily. "Yet you didn't trust me. You stopped me. You expected I was going to make a _mistake_." The last word was spoken with venom.

"I..." Once again, the commander was at a loss for words as he dropped his arms once more to his sides, where they swung uncertainly.

The hologram continued her rant. "I thought it was bad when I was first activated. When people treated me like a piece of medical equipment: ignoring me, de-prioritizing me when my program was malfunctioning, leaving me on with nothing to do...but this is different. They acknowledge me as a person, and think of me as _unreliable_. My medical decisions are constantly questioned. My patients don't follow my directions. They — not to mention their _guests_ —," she directed that word squarely at Chakotay, "argue with me constantly. It's ridiculous!"

"I'm sorry," was all Chakotay could say. Then, "What should we do about it?"

"I'd like to go back to my 'old' self," she told him. "I prefer being male, all the time. At least I get _some_ semblance of respect. Besides, I can't really explain it but it doesn't feel _right_ to be a woman. It's not me. Not even with my personality subroutines altered. And please don't tell me that Ms. Torres could try altering my program further; she's tried a number of different variations and none of them have been even close to comfortable for me."

The commander gulped, wondering now if perhaps the holographic doctor's own discomfort was what led to people treating her...him?...differently, but decided not to press the matter further, as he was well out of his depth. Instead, he chose to focus on the other complication with changing the EMH back permanently. "What about the captain? I gather that you took this form initially for her comfort."

"I will maintain female form around the captain, as long as she needs me to, but only if you allow me to do my job," she insisted. "Don't forget that I am still the Doctor you know, still your CMO."

Chakotay nodded. "I got it. So, if you're not going to relieve the captain of duty, what are we going to do to treat her?"

"Again, not that it is any of your business, but under the circumstances..." She sighed, then continued. "_I _will start," she began again, emphasizing the pronoun, "by explaining to her why it is essential that she regain her memories before we make any other decisions. And _you_ will assist me in whatever way I deem appropriate, _after_ consulting my patient to make sure it is all right with her that you are participating in her care."

"I'd like to be there for her, especially if she regains her memories," Chakotay insisted.

"_When_ she regains them," the EMH 1.1 insisted, "she will be given a choice of whether to have you there. _If_ she allows it, you may stay for the procedure."

"Okay," Chakotay conceded, desperately hoping that Kathryn would agree to his presence, though now he was forced to question whether the only reason he wanted to be there was because he didn't trust the lady doctor to treat her properly. _No_, he resolved, _I'd want to be there regardless_. _She's my friend...and..._ He couldn't bring himself to complete the thought.

"Now, I believe I have a patient to treat," said the photonic doctor tersely. "You may accompany me if you wish, but if, at any moment, she does not want you there, you need to leave." She then walked back out into the main room, where the captain sat on the biobed, looking positively irate.

Chakotay jogged after the hologram, ready for the captain's wrath.

=/\=


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 10): This chapter is mostly un-beta'ed (Lia has other responsibilities - boo - but thanks to her for a few helpful thoughts), so please blame any deficiencies on me (and let me know about them if they can be fixed either with small corrections here or addressing them in future chapters). And continuing thanks to my reviewers, followers, and fave-ers (is that a word?)!

=/\=

Chakotay had scarcely approached the side of the biobed when he heard Kathryn speak. "I believe you owe me an answer, Doctor." Her words were so formal, so commanding, that he almost shook his head in disbelief at the fact that she was asking to be relieved of duty. Even while she suffered, she was still the captain to the bone.

The holographic doctor, for her part, merely nodded perfunctorily and replied calmly, betraying nothing of the annoyance she had expressed to the commander just moments ago. "I do indeed, _Captain_," she stated, emphasizing the rank, "and obviously, while you are under my care, you will not be allowed to return to duty."

Chakotay saw Kathryn slump slightly then, as if the tension holding her up had suddenly been released. Her eyes, firmly fixed upon the EMH 1.1, revealed intense relief, and something else..._dread_? Janeway opened her mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted.

"Don't get too comfortable, Captain," the photonic woman continued. "I said _while you are under my care_. You must remain in Sickbay until I deem you ready for duty again."

"But..." the captain started, obviously taken aback, and again the hologram interrupted her.

"I see no reason to relieve you of duty permanently," the lady doctor explained. "You are perfectly capable of performing your job, except for the minor issue of your panic attacks, which I believe can be cured..._if_ we restore your memories."

Predictably, the captain shook her head. "No. I can't...it's not a good idea."

The hologram sighed. "I see no other way to access the cause of your distress, Captain. Obviously blocking conscious recall hasn't been entirely effective, as your subconscious seems to still be quite aware of what transpired and is maintaining a physical and psychological response. If we return the memories to your conscious mind, there are ways of dealing with trauma directly."

Again, Kathryn appeared as if she were about to say something, but deftly the female doctor intercepted the argument, while Chakotay looked on, astonished at how easily Janeway was being railroaded. Sparked by his most recent conversation with that very doctor, he wondered briefly if her uncharacteristic inability to dominate the situation had more to do with her own wounded state of mind, or with the difference in dynamic that resulted when interacting with a member of her own gender.

"Obviously I cannot _order_ you to undergo the procedure, as long as you are the captain and able to perform your duties," the projection continued, "but if your symptoms progress, I could be forced to declare you unfit, and whoever took over command _could_ order it of you, as long as you are a crewmember aboard this ship. And if you were to leave us entirely, Captain, well, who knows what fate would befall you. I don't think you're willing to take that risk, especially when it means you could no longer be of use to this crew in any capacity. I know you, Captain, and you wouldn't abandon us...not willingly."

Now, the captain was silent, seeming to mull the holographic doctor's argument. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them contemplatively.

_She can't seriously be considering disembarking,_ Chakotay thought to himself. The commander spoke up then, not sure whether the photonic woman would like what he was about to say, but not caring, because he felt the captain needed to hear it. "Kathryn," he stated softly, "I wouldn't order you to undergo the procedure. After what happened, I couldn't dream of forcing you to do yet another thing with your body — or your mind — that you aren't comfortable with."

He held his breath then, hoping she would take the bait. She did, sighing before she spoke. "I appreciate that, Chakotay, but I don't even _know_ what happened. I don't know if it was a situation...like you described." She stumbled over her words, as if she could not figure out how to say what she really meant, or was afraid to speak explicitly, lest she somehow create veracity.

He pursed his lips before replying. "Which is exactly why I agree with the Doctor that restoring your memories is our best hope. We'll find out what happened, and then we can deal with it. I'll help in whatever way I can."

She visibly tensed then, and Chakotay braced himself to witness another anxiety episode, eying the photonic doctor for support before turning his focus back to the captain, who was looking towards him pleadingly. Kathryn spoke angrily now, "You promised you'd see if the memories could be accessed another way." She shifted her eyes to the hologram, her gravelly voice full of desperation, "Doctor, is there any hope you have them stored somewhere?"

At that, a holographic eyebrow was raised. "As far as I know, those memories exist only in your brain, Captain. If I have no record of performing the original procedure, you can be sure that I have no record of the memories themselves. The surgery doesn't extract them; it merely blocks them. Unless you think you might have told me directly what happened, and then locked those files, in which case you are the only one that can retrieve them. Feel free to dig around, though you're not leaving my sickbay until you make a decision."

Chakotay saw the captain gulp then, and was sure she would begin shaking once again, but surprisingly, she didn't. Instead, she looked back and forth between the lady doctor and him, and finally looked back down at her lap. "I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you," she admitted. "If it was so horrible that I wanted to erase it, then I wouldn't have wanted to relive it by relating what happened. Besides, even if I did record it somewhere, I don't see how reading what I told you or wrote or whatever would be particularly different than restoring the memories themselves."

"Good thinking, Captain," interjected the holographic woman. Then she paused for a moment, presumably to let her praise sink in as her eyes traveled over her patient. The commander watched his captain too, though he wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for, nor what the photonic doctor saw that prompted her next statement. "Take your time," she urged, "I can be patient." The edge of her mouth curled up in a sort of smirk as she paused again so that Kathryn could reply.

"All right," the captain agreed dejectedly, laying her hands flat on the biobed at her sides as she looked up. "You've convinced me. I don't like it, but it doesn't seem like I've got much of a choice."

Then Chakotay nodded and spoke up again. "I'll stay with you or leave," he promised, "whatever will make you more comfortable. And, as the good doctor said, take your time. I don't want you to feel rushed." As he spoke, he clenched his fists, realizing that he was treading a fine line between comfort and condescension. The last thing he needed to do was to exacerbate her current insecurities by coddling her.

Janeway rolled her eyes. "I want to get out of here as soon as possible," she pointed out. "We might as well get this over with."

"I agree," Chakotay told her directly. Then, with his voice wavering slightly in trepidation of her response, he asked, "Would you like me to stay, or to go?"

Kathryn surprised him yet again by looking directly into his eyes, seeming to study him. He attempted to convey his intentions as best he could as he met her gaze in return. "You want to stay," she assessed after a moment of silence.

"Yes," he admitted without elaborating. "I do."

"Then stay," she allowed, finally breaking eye contact, as if she were afraid that continuing to look at him would allow him an opportunity to observe something she didn't want him to see. He wondered if it were an actual desire to have him there, or just resignation to the fact that he wouldn't be satisfied if she sent him away. Or perhaps something more sinister: a fear that, if she dismissed him, he'd retaliate against her in some way. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that she'd think him capable of that, considering...but given that she'd read his desire correctly, and was willing to allow his presence, he decided it would only complicate things to question her motives. He would be there for her, because she permitted it: that was sufficient reason.

He was only vaguely aware of the fact that she was speaking again, and belatedly processed the words. "Go ahead, Doctor."

=/\=


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 11): So sorry for the delay on this. Real life. And missing my beta. Thank you to Lia Harkness for at least chatting with me vaguely about this, but she's got more important things to do now than beta for me, so this chapter, as the previous one, is self-beta'ed. Any errors are my fault, and please point them out if they're easily fixable!

=/\=

As the lady version of the emergency medical hologram worked around her patient, laying various pieces of equipment on and around her, Chakotay found himself once again clenching his fists against the overwhelming urge to touch the captain in an effort to convey some comfort to her. Or would contact serve more to comfort him? He became aware of his heart pounding in his chest, so forcefully he wondered if either of the other occupants of the room could hear it. He could also feel the stickiness of sweat beading inside his palms, and considered whether the captain was as nervous as he. She must be...her very _brain_ was about to be manipulated...again.

He shuddered to think that the last time she'd undergone something like this, it had been voluntary, even her idea. This realization renewed his instinct to reach out and offer solace in the way to which he was accustomed. He remembered the very first time he'd touched Janeway: they'd just discovered the 37's, and been shown their impressive accomplishments and beautiful cities. After allowing all aboard to make their own choices, they were afraid that too many of the crew would want to join the residents of the planet, and the rest would be forced to stay because not enough crewmembers would remain to man the ship. Without consciously thinking about it, seeing her distress at the notion that she could be momentarily forced to abandon her primary mission, he'd reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. She'd turned to him and given him a warm smile and nod, and again without consciously meaning to, he'd let out a sigh of relief because after all, he'd just _touched_ his captain without permission, and she wasn't angry: in fact, she seemed to appreciate it.

He wondered if the reason he felt so comfortable reaching out to her was because she had already been so tactile with him, and with other members of the crew. He wasn't as eager to touch other members of the crew: he distinctly recalled leaving B'Elanna...or half of her?...crying in _Voyager_'s Sickbay, waiting for her Klingon part to reassert itself; he'd departed without a word, let alone a comforting caress. He'd known he should do something, but had no idea what, so he'd walked out. He'd let Seska touch him, of course, but that was different, since they were involved..._and_ the romantic entanglement ended badly. One might think he'd have been more cautious ever since, but with the captain, touch seemed an acceptable form of communication, and became part of the automatic lexicon...until recently. Because someone else touched her without permission, and that person's touch was clearly so unwelcome that she wanted to force herself to forget it. Only it hadn't quite worked.

He then found himself contemplating _why_ it wouldn't have worked. He wasn't a neuroscience expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew that one of the tricks of remembering difficult facts was to connect them to what one already knew. So it made sense that, if blocking one memory hadn't eradicated its effect, that the memory might be intricately intertwined with others that hadn't been so easily found and compartmentalized. _Has she been assaulted before?_ came the frightening and logical question. He bit his lip, hoping against hope that his rudimentary understanding of the intricate workings of the human mind was incomplete enough so that there was another explanation..._any_ other explanation. To think of what had happened to her once, that perhaps he was about to find out more about, was torture enough, but to imagine that it was only one of _many_ similar experiences was a thought he couldn't bear.

He consciously blocked his mind from further contemplation as he turned his attention back to the scene before him. The female doctor was removing the very equipment it seemed she'd just been maneuvering into position.

"Done already?" he found himself asking, his voice breaking and not-quite steady.

"It wasn't a complicated procedure," the hologram confirmed huffily, and the commander realized he must have betrayed his displeasure at the response with his facial expression when she shot him a dirty look and continued, "So to answer your question, yes. However, I have no idea how she'll react when she wakes up, which she will, momentarily, so you'd best keep your distance until she asks you to do otherwise."

Chakotay nodded. "I understand." His mind did, anyway. His heart wasn't so sure. But he exerted the last bit of control he had over himself to obey the feminine doctor's command to the best of his ability. Meanwhile, his mind raced away again, let free by the bonds now needed to restrain, once again, the rest of his body, which ached to get closer to rather than further away from his suffering friend.

He imagined all sorts of reactions, and his gaze darted around the room for potentially-needed supplies. Tissues in case she cried. A basin in case she were sick. The exit in case she immediately asked him to leave. Before he could find any of them, however, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately turned back to regard the patient herself as she awoke.

Her reaction stunned him more than anything he could have imagined. Or rather, it was the captain's _lack_ of reaction that blindsided the commander. She sat stoically, steadily eyeing the holographic doctor, and Chakotay couldn't read her expression at all.

"Kathryn?" he found himself uttering softly, hoping that calling to her would elicit some sort of response.

She ignored him, but addressed her physician. "I would like to go back to my quarters now," she insisted plainly. "And I believe you promised to relieve me of duty after the procedure."

"No!" he exclaimed before he could censor the word.

Again, the lady doctor shot him a disapproving look before addressing her patient. "Chakotay's correct. I only agreed to _evaluate_ your fitness for duty after the procedure, and I was confident we could fix your little problem once you had your memories back. Do you, in fact, remember something you didn't before?"

At that, Janeway sat up, swinging her legs over the biobed and wringing her hands in her lap. "Yes. The procedure worked, if that's what you're asking. But no, I'm not going to talk about it. Not with you or anyone else." Her voice cracked as she continued, "I just want to go home."

The EMH 1.1 sighed. "I'm sure you realize, Captain, that I cannot release you until I am sure you are well. You're my guest until this is resolved, regardless of what you _want_ to do. And, if you were to walk out without a medical release, I could send security after you, and forcibly restrain you once you were returned safely, so I suggest you not attempt to 'give me the slip.'"

Chakotay was astonished at the female doctor's brazen remarks, but even more surprised at Janeway's response, which was to nod her head and solidly answer, "I understand. Fine, what do you need in order to release me?"

The hologram eyed her steadily for a moment before replying. "I need you to explain to me why you wish to be relieved of duty. In my experience, even when you are suffering, you are happiest while running this ship. You insisted upon returning to work immediately despite the official medical recommendation to 'take it easy' after you almost died in that shuttle crash with Commander Chakotay. So obviously, asking to be relieved of duty is a red flag. I can't just relieve any crew member who asks: _you_ wouldn't allow it. You'd have a talk with whichever crewmember wanted out, and only let them go if they were an active threat to the ship for no reason of their own making, and in a way that couldn't be rectified: Kes, for example. And as I recall, you still agonized over the decision to send her away."

_She's trapped_, thought Chakotay, wondering if the captain would begin to panic again. _I might, if I were in a similar position. Hell, I'm pretty sure I have._ However, the captain appeared to be calmly contemplating her response, and eventually spoke.

"It's very simple, Doctor. I _am_ an active threat to this ship, as long as I am her captain."

A holographic eyebrow went up slightly to indicate curiosity, or perhaps a simulation thereof. "You're going to have to explain that to me, Captain, because all I've ever seen is your _saving_ the ship, _saving_ the crew, making the best of bad situations. Furthermore, other members of this crew have knowingly put this ship in danger, through action or inaction, and other than Kes, those who are still alive are still on duty, as per your orders. To quote this ship's wise leader, we need every person aboard if we're going to make it home. And that includes you, Captain."

Janeway looked down and frowned at her hands in her lap. "I've put this ship in danger from day one, when I stranded us here in the Delta Quadrant to save the Ocampa. I flew us into a pair of binary pulsars, an action Tuvok called 'reckless.' I've been lucky, but it's time to stop giving me the opportunity, because luck eventually runs out. Chakotay will be a much better captain than I."

At that, Chakotay shook his head. "Why, because I'm a man? Or a former Maquis? _I_ am one of those members of the crew who has put the ship in danger — most notably when I disobeyed your orders while you were incapacitated while working with the Borg against Species 8472 — and not only am I still on duty, but you're asking me to take over the ship."

Janeway startled slightly at his speech, turning to face him with an expression that indicated she'd forgotten he was still there. _Of course she has_, he thought. _She's used to having me so near she can feel me, and I'm keeping my distance now._

"Yes," she whispered. Then, raising her voice only slightly, she continued, "Because you don't have the same vulnerabilities that I do. Vulnerabilities that could have gotten me — and other members of this crew — killed. It's time for me to step down so that we can make it home alive."

Chakotay resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You're the strongest person I know," he insisted. "And I'm pretty sure every member of this crew agrees. You're brave, gutsy, resilient, and brilliant. I can't imagine a better captain for this crew, and I dread the possibility that one day you might be killed and I'll have to take over, because I _know_ I can't be to this crew what you are. Nobody can."

"You have no idea what I've done," she retorted angrily, once again lowering her gaze into her lap. "If you knew, you'd change your mind."

"Then _tell_ me," Chakotay insisted. "Let me make up my mind for myself."

=/\=


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 12): Still self-beta'ed, so feel free to let me know what you really think, if I can fix it quickly here or in an upcoming chapter. *Waves towards the ocean at my beta, who is missed!* Apologies for the short chapter, but I wanted to get something up before things get even busier (is that even possible?) Also, huge thank you to all the people who have been reviewing, following, and faving! It definitely encourages me to write faster when I know people are enthusiastic about the story!

=/\=

Janeway pursed her lips, raised her eyes, and regarded her first officer stonily before speaking. "I've asked you to trust me before, Chakotay, and I'm asking you again now. You don't want or need to know. You just need to trust my judgment."

Chakotay shook his head sadly. "I can't trust your judgment to not trust your judgment. It doesn't make any sense to me. I can't. I need something more in order to make a decision that's going to affect everyone on this ship."

She sighed, looking down at her lap once more. "Another reason why you will make a great captain, Chakotay."

"Someday, perhaps," he replied coldly, "but not today, unless you tell me something I can't possibly imagine."

She fiddled with her fingers as she replied softly. "You _already_ know some things I've done, that ought to disqualify me from this position. Starting with wiping the Doctor's memory for my own personal comfort."

He wasn't willing to accept that. "Is that why you did it, Kathryn? For your personal comfort? Because I've never known you to do _anything_ for your personal comfort, except perhaps securing an extra cup of coffee."

There was silence for a moment, while Chakotay glanced at the aforementioned doctor, who was not speaking, but was regarding the two of them intently as she observed the conversation. "No, I suppose I didn't," Janeway finally admitted. "I thought that, if I couldn't remember it, that it would be as if it hadn't happened, and that I could go on as before. I thought I could erase history. It was arrogant of me, and it didn't even work. I was still affected, and worse, I couldn't even explain _why_. Which put the ship in even more danger than if I had just accepted it at first."

Once again, the commander shook his head. "You were trying to protect _Voyager_, to continue doing your job. Maybe it turned out badly, but it wasn't selfish: you were doing what you thought was best for all of us. We're human, Kathryn. All of us. Including you. We make mistakes. And who's to say the mistakes I'd make as captain wouldn't be as bad, if not worse, than yours? Nobody got hurt here, except you."

"This time," she conceded, then looked up at him briefly, allowing him to glimpse the tears beginning to collect in her eyes. "But what about next time?"

"Nobody can predict the future," he pointed out. "Next time is yet to be determined, and there's no reason to believe that we have a better chance if I'm captain than if you are. Besides, what would you do if I took over? Clean the plasma manifolds and stay out of everyone's business, as if the crew would even accept that? Or would you have me drop you at the nearest inhabitable planet, to live out your life in solitude or among the natives?"

"Maybe. At least then I couldn't get myself — or anyone else — into any more trouble," she pointed out bitterly, holding his gaze as she spoke, but then lowering her eyes afterwards, seemingly exhausted by the momentary eye contact.

Growing exasperated, Chakotay grabbed at the biobed behind him, clenching his hands around the edge and leaning back slightly. "You haven't gotten anyone into trouble," he argued.

"We're still here, in the Delta Quadrant, instead of home with our families," she retorted, raising her eyes again but this time looking past him, at the Sickbay wall. "And I'm a wreck. That's trouble enough for me."

The commander tried a different tack. "We've met new species, explored a part of the galaxy no other humans have seen, formed bonds among an unlikely crew. We've had invaluable experiences we wouldn't have had at home with our families. And we're still alive. We may yet return to our families, but only with your help."

"I disagree," she stated simply, glancing up briefly at him before returning her eyes to her hands. "It's not worth it. And it's my fault. I'm deeply grateful for your loyalty, but I don't deserve it."

Now Chakotay looked over pleadingly at the EMH 1.1, who had yet to speak a word since he'd asked the captain to confess. _Help_, he begged her silently, hoping her program would allow her to interpret.

She seemed to understand. "Captain," the lady hologram interjected, drawing Janeway's focus, "I could diagnose you with various psychological ailments to explain this guilt complex of yours, but ultimately, we're not going to get anywhere unless you tell one of us exactly what happened that led you to these feelings of inadequacy, or at least, about the memories you chose to suppress. If you can't share with Commander Chakotay, I will dismiss him so that you may speak privately with me. You know I will keep our conversation confidential. But I don't believe you will feel better until we speak of facts, rather than judgments. And I promise you, if after we have spoken I agree with your assessment, I will relieve you of duty and let Chakotay take over. But you're going to have to do better than asking us to 'trust your judgment' that you're unfit for duty, because you've earned the respect and admiration of everyone aboard this ship and we believe it is well-deserved."

Staring directly into holographic eyes, the captain gave her reply. "All right." Chakotay wondered briefly if she were considering erasing the conversation from the photonic doctor's memory again, if she didn't like how it went, but it didn't really matter...he wasn't going to pass up what seemed like the best shot at helping her. He steeled himself for what he predicted was coming.

"Chakotay," the captain addressed him, speaking his name carefully and clearly, but remaining visually focused on the lady hologram. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm asking you to leave now. I appreciate your candor and support, but..." Her voice trailed off.

"I understand," Chakotay replied with what he hoped would be construed as sympathy, rather than the growing frustration that was threatening to explode out of him. "I'll see you later."

As he turned to leave, he glanced back, and caught a tear trickling down Kathryn's cheek. _Just another time I'm walking out on a crying woman_, he thought to himself. _At least this time she asked me to leave_. He began to contemplate what it said about him that he was so eager to leave the room when there were female emotions at play. _No_, he reminded himself. _I'd stay if she hadn't told me to go._

And then he remembered that B'Elanna, years ago, had not asked him to leave, but he'd left anyway. _But this is different_, he tried to convince himself unsuccessfully as he walked out the doors, feeling wholly conflicted.

=/\=

Supplementary Author's Note: There was some confusion, so I ought to clarify: the mention in this chapter and Chapter 11 of Chakotay walking out on B'Elanna is a reference to the scene in Sickbay at the end of the episode "Faces" (Season 1, Episode 14).


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 13): Warm thanks to Lia Harkness for having a quick look at this for reassurance! She didn't give it the full beta treatment (at my request, as she has more important things to do) though, plus I've made some changes since she saw it, so all errors are mine! (As usual, feel free to point them out, if they are fixable, and I will fix them if they are actually errors.) Also thank you to all of you who have been reading, reviewing, following, and faving this story. It means a lot to me!

=/\=

As if he were inside the event horizon of a black hole, minutes seemed to stretch into days for Commander Chakotay, whose very essence seemed to vibrate with impatience borne from too much frustration and waiting. He'd attempted a vision quest, but his spirit guide was nowhere to be found; his father, too, was missing, although he suspected the old man would not be able to advise him on the current topic of interest. He'd also attempted to sleep, as his shift was long since over and he had another one coming up far too soon, but with his mind racing, the peaceful bliss of dreams would not come.

Then, like pudding melting in heat, he felt the tension suddenly drain from his body, replaced with a heady mixture of hope and dread at the unexpected door chime.

"Come in," he bade, hoping that whoever it was bore news. He didn't even dare wish for _good_ news. He just wanted to know what was happening, what had happened, and at least as much as it was possible to prescribe, what was to come.

The commander rose to greet his visitor, and the woman who walked in was a startling vision to him: her auburn hair hanging loose and unkempt, her eyes red and puffy from a mixture of tears and lack of sleep, but standing tall and strong, clearly confident in her purpose. His lips parted slightly, and he drew in a sharp breath, preparing himself for the unknown.

But first, he had a house guest, and he intended to be hospitable. "Please sit," he offered, smiling and gesturing towards his couch. Timidly, she nodded, wordlessly accepting his offer, her face remaining serious. "Would you like some tea or coffee?" he continued kindly.

"Chakotay, you don't need to...," she started, then apparently catching wind of his obvious disappointment, she changed her mind. "I'd love a cup of tea," she admitted, and he walked to the replicator to obtain the item, surreptitiously stealing glances back at her periodically to assess her state and her intention. She was obviously nervous now, her legs and arms quivering slightly even as she appeared utterly exhausted. It was also curious that she'd requested an alternative to her usual coffee; he suspected the ship's CMO may have had a hand in her decision. He wondered if the holographic doctor had also ordered her presence here, and guessed he was soon to find out.

Carefully, he placed the steaming beverage on the table in front of her, then sat in an armchair facing her, slightly at an angle. He watched her struggle to meet his eyes, and felt as if a string inside of him had snapped harshly: he could almost hear the twang. Still, he was afraid to speak first, lest he say something to trigger her or otherwise scare her away, so he waited in silence for her to initiate the conversation.

It wasn't long before she spoke, her eyes focused on a point behind his head. "I've been unfair to you, Chakotay," she started, and he wanted to stop her right there, to say he understood and that it was okay, but instead he remained quiet, letting her continue without interruption and fixing a steady gaze upon her, attempting to pick up every subtle cue he could so as not to antagonize her in a moment of abject vulnerability.

"You've been concerned and helpful, and I made demands of you that I had no business making. Please accept my apology."

Every bone in his body screamed to say no, to argue with her that there was nothing to apologize for, and therefore he could not forgive her, but against his instincts, he merely nodded slightly, silently indicating for her to continue. She reached for the tea and took a sip, then replaced it on the table before speaking again.

"The Doctor and I talked for quite some time," she explained. "We came to a mutual agreement that I ought to speak frankly with you about what was going on. I didn't want to, but I eventually realized that you have already seen me at my worst, and you deserve the truth."

He nodded again, his heart racing with anticipation.

"Please understand that I still do not intend to reveal the entirety of my experiences to you, but I hope that what I am about to tell you will allow you to understand enough."

Finally he spoke, choosing his minimal words carefully, but knowing that complete silence on his part might make her uncomfortable. "Go on."

She took a shuddering breath, looking down at her lap and then back up again. "I have learned to anticipate certain aspects of human male behavior," she told him, "and act accordingly. The same isn't always true of alien species, from whom I don't know what to expect. I... let a situation get out of hand. I thought I could woo the official into cooperating with us, and instead I ended up cooperating with him. And acquiescing to some things of which I am deeply ashamed, that I had no viable way of refusing. I wasn't able to regain control of the situation until it was over. The rest you know. I tried to erase my memory and the Doctor's, and ended up... well, you saw me."

He pursed his lips as he contemplated his reply. "It must have been awful," he told her, "in order to evoke such a reaction. I can't imagine."

She shook her head. "It was entirely my fault. I should have known better. I got...," She pronounced the next word carefully, as if she had a bad taste in her mouth, "cocky. And," she looked down at her lap, her cheeks coloring slightly while her voice became low and gravelly, "a little lonely. I guess I thought I could be like Captain Kirk, with a girl on every planet. I forgot that I _was_ the girl, and that that made a difference, even among alien species."

Chakotay battled the simultaneous urges to laugh and to cry. "It shouldn't make a difference," he told her. "And for what it's worth, I don't think anyone on this ship sees you as a _girl_. You're the captain. And even if you were relieved of duty, I don't think that would change, not in their hearts and minds."

"But would it change if they knew what happened to me?" she asked meekly, glancing contemplatively up at him. Her voice lowered to a whisper as her eyes lowered once more to the floor. "To know how weak I really am?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Although you seem larger-than-life to us sometimes, and I know you spend a lot of effort keeping up that appearance, we all know you're as flawed and human as the rest of us. Bad things happen, even to starship captains. Captain Picard was captured and tortured by the Cardassians. Hell, he was _assimilated_ and nearly killed his whole crew. But both times, he was rescued and given back his ship. Starship crews don't just abandon their captains when they get hurt. It can be unsettling, yes, especially for the lower ranks, but they always get over it, especially when they love and respect their captain as much as this crew loves and respects you."

Now there were tears running down her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them away or hide them from his view as she gazed into his eyes for the longest moment he could remember in recent memory. "Thank you," she choked out.

He sighed and gripped the arms of his chair. "But you still don't completely believe it. And I don't know how to show you."

She shook her head in agreement. "I'm afraid," she admitted, blinking more tears out of her eyes.

"And that's understandable," Chakotay told her. "Anyone would be, in your position. But as I recall, you managed to overcome fear, and quite spectacularly: you told it, if I remember correctly, that fear only exists to be conquered, and that all fear eventually vanishes."

She looked down once more, and his heart sped up, sensing that things were about to go awry, and hoping he would be able to manage them without driving her away. "That wasn't me," she pointed out. "I'd programmed the simulation to say that. Some fears never disappear. Or at least, they shouldn't." She looked back up at him, uncertaintly, silently pleading with him to..._to what?_

Suddenly he understood. "Wait, you're saying this happened because you allowed fear to disappear, and therefore had your guard down? And that fear...it was borne from another experience, or...more than one? This...this has happened to you before, hasn't it? But —," he paused for a moment, feeling bile slip up his throat at the final realization, concluded based upon everything she had just said, "last time, it was a human male."

=/\=


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Coping  
>Rating: T<br>Author: Singing Violin  
>Series: Star Trek: Voyager<br>Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.  
>Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.<br>Author's Note (Chapter 14): Sorry for the delay on this one. There was some relevant news that caught my attention, and which I did not want to interfere destructively with the story. Hopefully I managed. This is the final chapter of this work - woohoo! I'm finally done. And thank you to Lia Harkness for all her feedback and enthusiasm through the process of writing this. She has not seen the final draft of this chapter, so all errors are mine. Also thank you to all of you other supporters who pm'd, faved, followed, and reviewed along the way!

=/\=

She didn't answer explicitly, but the startled look in on her face all but confirmed his assessment.

"Who was he, Kathryn?" Chakotay asked softly, ducking his head slightly as he studied her reaction.

She shook her head and leaned forward in preparation to rise. "I should go."

He reached towards her automatically, but the instant fear in her eyes stayed his hand mid-approach. "Please stay," he begged her, pulling himself back. "You don't have to answer that. I just thought..." He had no idea how to explain himself; in fact, he wasn't even sure what he had been thinking.

She surprised him by completing his thought for him, sitting back and folding her hands in her lap deliberately. "That you could summon your inner 'angry warrior' and dole out some vigilante justice?" she supplied. "Beat him up, perhaps? Or if you couldn't get at him, announce to the world what he had done, hoping you could ruin his reputation? Assuming you even had the right person, what good would that do? Even if the story were believed, you'd be airing _my_ dirty laundry. I'd like to think you have more respect for my privacy than that."

_Burn_, he thought as her reprimand stunned him into silence. She continued angrily, "And what if he fought back, told his side of the story?" He noticed her hands clenching into fists above her thighs. "Would you continue to fight for me against him, be my champion whether I wanted you to or not? Or worse, what if he _couldn't _fight back, because he was tens of thousands of light years away, or perhaps no longer with us at all? Maybe that's how you did things in the Maquis, but in Starfleet we ensure that people are innocent until proven guilty, and do not punish them for crimes alleged via hearsay."

He wanted to cry, and finally he had words, which he forced himself to choke out, his voice cracking. "But you've been hurt. You're suffering. Surely that's got to count for something."

"Just because I'm having issues doesn't mean anyone else is responsible for them," she pointed out. "I'm a grown woman. I can take responsibility for my own actions. Besides, in every story involving more than one person, there are at least two different points of view. Which makes it especially important to remember that truth can be subjective and two wrongs do not make a right. We've known this for centuries. Perhaps millennia. I'd like to think that we've mastered it by now. Even _if _someone did something deliberately, punishing them doesn't erase the past."

Now he had something to work with. "They punished the Maquis that got caught. It was supposed to serve as a deterrent."

She snorted. "And how well did that work?"

He looked down into his lap, once more having no good reply.

"Right," she continued. "If a person does not believe that they have done anything wrong, punishment will not convince them otherwise. It will merely erode their faith in the system. Likewise, fear of punishment does not deter people from doing what they want. Only their own consciences can stop them." She paused for a moment, allowing him to digest what she had just said.

"So, what is your conscience telling you now, Chakotay?" she offered, and he raised his eyes to meet her tentative gaze.

"That right now, you don't need an 'angry warrior.' You need a friend. Who will keep your secrets private and offer you any support you need, without compounding your guilt by pushing you to engage in retaliation or vengeance."

Her mouth curled slightly in the hint of a smile. "I knew you were a wise man, Chakotay. Again, evidence that you will make an excellent captain."

His heart stopped and his breath hitched in his throat. "We're back to this again?" he asked. "What was your deal with the good doctor, anyway?"

She shook her head, looking down at the floor. "We still haven't come to an agreement. She insisted that I speak with you first." Then she looked back up and addressed him directly, frustration evident in her gravelly voice. "I have to say, I feel like I'm being given the runaround. You insisted I consult with her, and she sent me to speak with you. Each of you agreed to honor my request if the other concurred, but thus far neither of you is willing to make a decision. I was hoping that once you both knew what was going on, there would no longer be an issue."

He gritted his teeth as he nodded, then sighed loudly before answering. "I'll be straight with you, Kathryn. I'm uncomfortable with all of this. I don't think relieving you of duty is in anyone's best interest. I've explained to you why. I don't know what else to do. I don't think any of this is your fault, and I wish I could convince you of that."

She seemed to study him intently for quite some time, and he allowed the silence to envelop them, hoping that somehow it would initiate some sort of healing process. Finally she spoke, "And I don't know how to convince you that it _is_ in everyone's best interest. So it seems we are at an impasse."

"Except," he pointed out, "as long as you're still the captain, you can order the rest of us to do whatever the hell you want. But I don't think anyone aboard will accept those orders."

"Well, I guess we'll have to see about that," she told him pointedly, again getting up to leave. "I'll prepare a statement." As she rose, she looked at him sideways. "It would probably help to have your support." She made her way towards the door as he desperately racked his brain for a way of countering her.

Suddenly, he had an idea. She was almost at the door. "Kathryn, wait," he called towards her, rising from his seat as she stopped and turned to face him from across the room.

"You were right, that I was thinking of vengeance. I am so angry that someone hurt you — more than one person even — and if I got close to them, I'm not sure I could control myself. You...you help me temper that. I told you once that you helped me find peace. It's still true. I might be able to lead this ship, but without your guidance, I'm afraid I'd enter us into battle or make enemies unnecessarily. I'm quick to judge. You're so fair-minded that even when someone has hurt you, your first assumption is that it was a misunderstanding. And as far as I'm concerned, that makes you just about the best captain Starfleet has ever had. You'll never start a war unless it's absolutely necessary. You prefer to make friends than enemies. You'll sacrifice yourself before you'll let anyone else get hurt. And if you're worried that makes you vulnerable, I can help you stay safe, offer my guidance and protection when you have to do something dangerous. Maybe I won't always be able to protect you — though I hope it won't ever come to that again — but I can always help protect the ship. The two of us are a dynamite team. I think...the ship needs both of us, working together, in order to give us all our best shot at making it home in one piece. And the team seems to work the way it is; I see no reason to change it up, especially given that I'm sure it would make everyone on board a little uncomfortable. They'd wonder why...and you just said you'd prefer to keep your private matters private. Do you really want the rumors that would circulate if we even traded jobs, let alone if you took over some even more junior position?"

Her lips pushed into a straight line, and he could see her struggling to come up with an argument. She folded her arms on her chest. "I suppose you have a point," she spoke low, barely above a whisper. "But what about me? What will you do if I have a panic attack at an inopportune moment?"

Now it was his turn to study her once more, and cautiously, he took a few steps forward, narrowing the distance between them before answering. He left about half a meter for comfort, and matched her soft tone with his own. "Somehow I don't think that's going to happen. Whenever there's a crisis, you're always too preoccupied dealing with it to think about much else. But we can cross that bridge if we come to it. It shouldn't be different than if you were incapacitated by enemy fire or illness or any other unexpected circumstance. And as for the rest of the time, I'm here. I'll help in whatever way I can. Lead you on vision quests, help you meditate, take you somewhere on the holodeck to get your mind off of your troubles, take over your duties for a little while so you can rest, or just listen when you want to talk. We can be flexible here, but you'll have to trust me."

She nodded hesitantly, and the twinkle in her eye seemed to indicate she noticed his reflection of her usual request for his trust. "All right. I suppose we have a deal. For now. I..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes shifted side to side slightly, nervously.

At that moment, she completely surprised him by stepping towards him, closing the gap completely, and resting a hand on his chest. He stood still, holding his breath and stiffening slightly, attempting not to show how much that small touch, so familiar and so missed, was sending electricity down to his toes and up through the top of his head. "Thank you, Chakotay," she said. "I'll see you in the morning." She dropped her hand and turned, once again, to leave.

He glanced at the chronometer as he exhaled. "You mean in about an hour. Would you like to join me for breakfast in the mess hall after we both have a shower?"

She turned back to him, and this time she was really smiling. "I'd like that," she admitted. "I will see you again in twenty minutes." And with that, she disappeared.

He let out another breath, realizing they had a tough road ahead of them, but feeling the profound relief of knowing that he hadn't lost her completely. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he hoped she would continue to open up to him until she could truly heal.

And in case he ever found out which human male had assaulted her, he silently vowed not to take any rash action, to respect her wishes in that regard. But there was probably something he could do to prevent future Starfleet officers from suffering as she had, or at least to squash the deleterious "training" she'd been forced to undergo. He was certain there was _something_ he could do. He just had to figure out what. Luckily, he seemed to have plenty of time to think about it.

And in the meantime, they'd cope with whatever was to come.

=/\= =/\= =/\=


End file.
